


Bye bye brooklyn boys

by hellomrschorusgirl



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 05:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16907142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellomrschorusgirl/pseuds/hellomrschorusgirl
Summary: If you thought one Brooklyn boy was enough to mess with your mind, you were most definitely right. But two really fucks it all up.





	1. September

Often I find myself waking up with tears in my eyes in the middle of the night. I thought I knew what I wanted but the notion is completely lost on me now. Most days are spent at the cafeteria behind piles and piles of papers that need to be looked after or hiding out at my apartment with some hot coco and emotional music that somehow cheers me up just a smidge. The truth is, I’m afraid I don’t want to take the next step. I’ve been brave before, but I’m not sure I can be brave again now.

When I asked my friend Sharon about him, she couldn’t tell me much. Only his name (James, “but all his bros call him Bucky”) and that she was paired up with him for one of the University’s latest charity projects. They were supposed to meet up in a couple days to further assess the assignment and said she’d be happy to introduce us afterwards if I just happened to run into them on their way back to the parking lot.

And so it began.

We spoke and saw each other on the regular, attending some classes together and getting to know one another a little better along the way. He’s an odd one, a dreamer and easily distracted by his thoughts. I thought I had fallen in love with his philosophical take on the world and his rather quirky approach to life. His piercing grey gaze and his adorable lopsided grin that causes chills to run down my spine and goose bumps to rise on my skin.

And so it ended.

Because he didn’t love me back.

I heard it first from one of my classmates, Wanda. She had overheard him talking to a mutual friend of ours about how I had taken a fancy to him. He assured them that he never wanted to loose me as a friend because I’m “such a sweet girl” and I’m “going to make it big one day”. I’m going to make a name for myself and he doesn’t want to be the one holding me back. Somewhere I’ve always known my ambitions and urging desire to travel would stand in the way of a potential romantic relationship.

But then I met you.

I was busy making preparations for my foreign exchange when we somehow started talking. We often eyed each other but it was merely from afar. I had heard your name before (Steve) and seen you hanging around the campus with him because apparently you two were the best of friends. You are a very good listener, which is what I appreciated so much about you. When a friend is in need, I’m the first person they call for some advice whether it be about school or their fucked up love life or a quarrel with their parents about the dog. I’m always there for everyone yet no one really takes the time to listen to what I have to say.

That’s when summer came along.

We had both signed up as volunteers for this fundraiser for war veterans suffering from PTSD. Although we were assigned different duties, there were the occasional chores that brought us back together and we sure as hell made a good team. Everyone told me so but I never really thought of you as more than a friend.

That is, until I fell in love with you.

I really fell hard for your adorable puppy dog eyes that I somehow never noticed before until I took a candid picture of you, leaning against the canteen wall and looking straight at me with those pensive puddles of joy. I really fell head over heels for the small, cheeky smile that graces your lips when I say something stupid and embarrass myself in front of you or make a silly comment about a completely irrelevant matter. I never thought I would fall in love with a guy that can make everyone feel so at ease yet makes me feel like our reality is brand new, tickling my curiosity and making my nerves explode with new sensations. Like I’ve been frozen for most of my life and have just been brought back out of cryostasis.

And then it was time for me to leave, but I didn’t ask you to wait for me.


	2. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have your very first date with Steve but conclude the evening in Bucky’s company.

I patiently awaited his arrival, nicely settled with a copy of “Wuthering Heights” at the table nearest to the entrance of the University library where I had asked him out on a date right after closing time on a cold October evening. But when the last class of the day had been dismissed at 7 p.m., I took out my keys with the intention of making my way back to my car, sick and tired of watching fellow students pass me by with a slight frown on their face and even the occasional professor stealing a glance my way. 

Dressed to the nines for the occasion, I realise how odd I must look wearing a pretty blue dress that matches the colour of Steve’s eyes, for which I went all the way to fifth avenue to buy, a pair of cherry red heels and a small auburn brown leather purse topping off the outfit. I also purchased a new set of pearl earrings, maxing out my credit card limit while I was at it. I wanted to look the part. I wanted to sweep him off his feet and that meant go all out on a shopping trip to find the perfect casual, cute yet chic attire for our dinner date. Fortunately my allowance was due next Monday.

But Steve should’ve been here by five and I’m worried sick something bad might’ve happened to him. About to dial his number, I see Nat’s caller ID light up my screen. I swipe the photograph of my best friend and her precious cosmopolitan to the right, taken at our latest girl’s night out when she got so hammered she didn’t even remember butt-dialling her mother whilst talking to me about her impressive sex life with Clint. Those were good times, very good times.

And perfect stuff for extortion later on.

The first thing I hear is her jovial laugh piercing my ears.

“OMG Y/N, you have no idea what you’re missing out on! Of course a date with Stevie is nice too, don’t get me wrong, but Wanda just chugged down ten shots in a row, can you believe it? Our baby girl has finally grown up! So as you know, I invited some friends over at our place and we started drinking and then Sam came up with this ludicrous but genius idea to go to the park and then somehow we ended up at the beach and now he is taking his clothes off to go skinny dipping alongside Pietro because apparently Buck and him do it on the regular! Bucky fucking Barnes and Sam, naked in the university pool! Oh honey, we’re going to have a ball bribing those two pricks with this newfound information, you mark my words,” she squeals and you have to hold the phone at least one metre away from your ear out of fear of going deaf.

“Anyway, I’m just checking up on you to see if you’ll make it home at a respectable hour or is the night still young and are you just going to crash at his place?”

She’s about to start rambling again when you cut her off. “Sounds like you’re having a lot of fun. Thanks for calling, Nat, but I’m fine. I’m actually going… He didn’t…”

But before you can find the right words to explain to her that you have been stood up, she adds a quick "Oh shit, sorry Y/N,“ indicating that your time with her is over, cringing as a very distressed Natasha screams at someone left unidentified on the other end of the line.

“Sorry babe, Clint’s really drunk and it looks like he might have to puke. Fill me in on the dirty little details tomorrow, okay sweetheart?”

Then the line goes dead and you are left to your thoughts once more.

“What are you doing here so late?”

My head shoots up into the general direction of the familiar voice, catching a familiar set of eyes staring back at me from across the table. James is studying me with his baby blue dreamers. He sets his backpack down at his feet and I can’t help but remember Nat’s words, conjuring up the image of him without his clothes on, merrily taking a swim with Sam in the dead of night with the moon as their only company.

Fuck.

I lick my lips inattentively, running a hand through my curly tresses as he mimics the gesture, carding his slender fingers through that messy and very sexy dark brown hair, confirming my hypothesis that we are both unsurprisingly awkward as fuck around one another, so much that we start to imitate each other due to a lack of better options.

“You’re waiting for somebody?”

“Yeah,” you whisper silently, embarrassment washing over you. You’re caught waiting for his best friend but he’s not supposed to know about that yet because you’re not quite sure where your feelings for James end and your affections for Steve begin. Does that even make sense?

You let out a heavy sigh.

“Fuck my life.”

Turning your gaze back to the page in front of you, unable to register anything that has been written on it, you focus solely on steadying your breathing and pushing the panic coursing through your veins to the far back of your foolish mind. Control your nerves and you should be able to talk you out of this situation in no time, you encourage yourself.

You find he has taken out his laptop and has started copying some notes that clearly aren’t by his hand. Even a chicken has a better handwriting than James Buchanan Barnes.

“Steve was so kind to give some of his research to me,” he says without even so much as looking your way when he feels your eyes scanning the transcripts in front of him. “I’ve been absent the past couple days so I need to catch up on a few things. Our project is starting up soon and I’m nowhere near finishing up on these experiments I was supposed to conduct weeks ago,” he states dryly, followed by a more silent and clearly frustrated “Fuck, where do I even start?”

“I"ll leave you to it, then,” you mutter, grabbing your cell phone and quickly stuffing it into your purse, neatly closing the book you were reading to return it to the librarian at his desk.

“No, please,” you hear him call out after you when you make to stand up, a little louder than appropriate it seems, his sudden outburst extracting a few hard glares from other students trying to focus on their tasks at hand. “You can stay if you want to. I don’t mind. I enjoy your company.”

And then my heart sinks to my feet. Like the motherfucking Titanic.

It’s not that I don’t want to stay with him, it’s just that I don’t know where this is coming from. 

James and I often sit next to one another during this one particular class, “Youth and sexuality: the influences of media on sexual development”, taught at an insufferably early hour (8.30 a.m., mind you) on a freaking Friday morning. Usually late for the party, I conscientiously save him a seat as he never fails to show up eventually, cloudy eyes still heavy with sleep and another hangover. It’s not a mandatory course and open to every student enrolled at the university, so we are practically the only ones occupying any space in the larger than life auditorium. It’s also the only course taught by the internationally renowned authority whose home university I will be attending in 3 months’ time, which is why I decided to add it to my already stuffed curriculum. 

And I have no clue why on earth James of all people decided to take this class as well.

But now I am looking at him from a new perspective, my heart beating steady in my ears as the blood starts rushing to my cheeks. His unwavering gaze dances from head to toe, the heat of his proximity providing my mind, sedated by his rather matter-of-factly admission that he fucking enjoys my company, with enough gasoline to return to my original position.

“I’m sorry he didn’t show up.”

This catches me off guard, how plainly a statement he sometimes can make. A strange kind of awareness hovers between your body and his. I shift uncomfortably, causing James to reach out to touch my hand, his natural aura of calm like electricity surging through me when he gives my hand a tiny squeeze before releasing it again. He truly is a character made of contrasts and contradictions, effortlessly switching from hot to cold and back.

It makes me feel like I’m swimming in muddy water.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, this time more delicately.

If there had been some harmless flirting in the past or at least some kind of physical contact, I wouldn’t have considered this an invasion of my personal space. But he looks up at me with the most kind eyes I’ve ever seen, the tenderness of his earlier gesture causing me to melt like an ice-cream on a hot summer’s day.

And it’s such a damn cliché.

He scratches his 5 o’clock shadow, eyes now cast downwards, turning his head slightly as if admiring the scenery. Then his brows knit together and he clears his throat to wipe away the evasive rigidity spiralling in the atmosphere.

Conversation between him and me has always been anything but effortless. He just loves heated discussions and playful banter but I am somehow incapable of loosening up around him. Sure, there has been a time I was head over heels in love with the guy but that didn’t mean I was 100% comfortable around him at all times which is weird since that’s not supposed to happen when you’re in love, right?

Or were it but mere embers to begin with, and not a fire burning the house down?

You know how pathetic it’s going to sound if you acknowledge his words, admitting Steve never made it to your date. But to hell with pitiful, you couldn’t care less. The corners of your lips curl upwards into a little sad smile which is about the most you can muster at this point.

“Me too.”

Biting your lower lip to distract any more words from tumbling out, you decide you won’t be able to get your mind off of this moment. Straightening his back, he nods in confirmation before something behind you seemingly catches his attention. And just like that he’s gone again.

“I should go home,” you murmur distractedly, your feet carrying you to the large double doors that will lead you into the icy autumn night. You freeze when you feel his fingers wrap around your upper arm and you must refrain a tiny yelp in surprise when he’s suddenly standing right in front of you, eyes sweltering with an emotion he hasn’t displayed yet, a burning sensation you haven’t discovered in James before.

“Y/N.” The way your name falls from his lips, as if it’s the first time he has ever said it out loud. The sparks resurface again, his touch red-hot on your skin and the indigo in his eyes brighter than ever.

“I’m really sorry.”

Something tells you he’s not talking about Steve anymore. Your suspicions are confirmed when he moves in a little closer until his lips are teasingly near but not meeting yours just yet. His lips feel soft against yours as he speaks agonisingly slow, his words hanging in the air pulled taut.

“I’m sorry that you’re the girl that got away.”

Holding your breath while he releases one instead, he lets go of your arm he has been holding on for dear life and takes two steps back. It seems he’s distancing himself both in body as in soul from the peculiar event that has just transpired between the two of you.

His eyes look everywhere but at you and you know that’s your cue to leave.

I’m sorry that you’re the girl that got away.

The night welcomes you with an unkind gust of air, messing up your feelings instead of sorting them out. You’re supposed to be over him, you’re supposed to be dedicating all your time to his best friend. Damn, Y/N! You’re leaving in a couple months, so I guess you are in fact the girl that’ll get away if you do however decide to part ways without a proper goodbye.

But now you have to start walking first.

Start to walk away.


	3. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find out what happened to Steve. Bucky makes an inexcusable choice. Everything is going to be different.

The moment I set foot in the apartment, the lights go on and I see Nat waiting for me, stretched out on the comforter with a large bag of frozen peas on her forehead. Her words are slurred as she speaks, her thoughts wrapped up in a thick fog of brandy and whatnot, although she jumps to her feet in a catlike fashion the moment I reveal Steve never made it to the library in the first place. Cringing at the mention of James’ presence there as well, recognising very well that I’m not a total 100% over him just yet, she stops me in the middle of my frustrated rant about being an independent woman and in no need whatsoever for a man, ever.

“You know what Clint said to me before he dropped me off? That Buck is trouble and Steve is the broom used to clean up after him. And, my dear Y/N, he is damn right. Bucky is alluring and sexy and very mysterious. Girls always fancy a bad boy more than the good guy, but Steve is someone you can rely on whereas Bucky has never even had a single, decent relationship in his entire life! He’s just too caught up in his own world to notice girls drooling over him everywhere he goes. Falling in love is always the easy part, Y/N. Steve is the kind of man you want to be the father of your children, Steve is someone who will treat you like a princess the moment you decide to cut the crap and finally get together. Bucky is just a casual fuck, someone you screw in a dark alleyway when you’ve had too much to drink. Bucky, no, James, is not good for you. ”

Which is the last thing she says before passing out cold.

And I never even got to tell her the full story.

The next morning James calls me up with both good and bad news. The good news goes as followed: Steve has resurfaced again. Now insert the bad news, he had spent the entire night in a tiny holding cell at the local police station. Apparently he ran into professor Stark’s red Austin Martin with his motorcycle, trying to make his way through the busy traffic, running terribly late for our first date. Although Steve suffered some minor injuries yet a major dent in his pride, Stark didn’t take this accident very lightly. The damage to Stark’s fancy car was superficial yet noticeable, a clear indentation marking where Steve’s motorcycle collided with the smooth surface of Stark’s trophy vehicle. Pulling some strings higher up the food chain, Stark was able to have Steve detained for as long as the insurance company didn’t pay up.

I told James I’d be there as soon as possible.

It was a well-known secret that Steve and professor Stark (but his assistants are allowed to call him Tony) didn’t get along very well and all I’m aware of is that the problem runs very, very deep. Some kind of family feud going back as far as the early nineteen-forties. But that professor Stark would take such extreme measures as to have Steve arrested by the authorities, that surprises me the most about this unfortunate accident. I’ve known Tony for only a brief period, ever since I decided to take him up on his offer and come work for him while I prep myself for my impending PhD. He was nothing short of a genius and a very generous man at heart, helping me out with my own deadlines whenever he could and even occasionally bringing me no less than three cups of strong coffee when I’m working yet another late night, spending all my available time in his office far into the early hours of the next morning.

It’s safe to say I adore his brilliant mind, his admirable soul and astonishing vigour.

But back to Steve… Steve looked like a complete and utter mess and that’s a huge understatement, black and blue bruises littering his face and a pained expression taking over his handsome features whenever he moves the tiniest bit, sheepishly admitting that he did in fact take a rather nasty fall off his bike like I initially suspected. But the first thing he does when I sit down next to him on the black leather couch that is the centre piece of James’ living room, is apologise profusely for missing out on our first date. I reassured him that there’s no need for an apology but he insists on making it up to me, scheduling a new time and day for our second try at going out for ‘romantic candlelight dinner ’, his words.

He’s just too sweet a kid for this world and it makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve him.

***

Bucky’s POV

When she leaves all I can think about is her eyes. Even though the tears were threatening to dull out the pulsating olive green, a particular glint of exuberance shoots them back to life. It brightens the brown reflected in her eyes and it’s the most breath-taking colour I’ve ever seen. Around the rim floats an exotic fusion of sunlit amber and midnight reflecting off the hot sand of some faraway beach. Her eyes are generously sprinkled with sable flecks and espresso spots, intensified by the lighter hues of an autumn day in the park, gathering acorns and fallen leafs before heading home for a delicious cup of hot coco.

Coincidentally, those are all the things I wish I could do with her.

Why am I even thinking about this?

There’s a feeling deep inside of him that makes his stomach churn with uneasiness and a certain melancholy he thought he would never associate with her. After their chance meeting at the library, James has been avoiding the urge to cry thick, fat tears all night, his entire body unnerved in a way that it shakes him all the way to his being. She had taken permanent residence in the very core of his fragile body, longing for her to be a part of his life again like she used to be before he broke her heart.

How could he ever have done that to her?

And yet here he is, eager to crash his lips against hers, eager for his fingers to caress her neck, thoroughly. He wants to entangle them into her long strands, the gentle feeling of her soft curls tickling his fingertips.

So he makes a decision, an irreversible one.

“Look, she’s a nice enough girl, but I think you should keep her at bay.”

Steve’s eyes widen at my comment. “Why would you say that?”, he breathes out calmly yet I can tell he’s clearly upset by my remark, clenching his fists and digging his nails into the flesh of his calloused hands. His nostrils flare up with a sudden rush of adrenaline and he’s off the couch in seconds, standing on two wobbly feet mere inches away from me.

I reply to his question with a hard glare. “Because she’ll be outta here in what? Three months? That’s not exactly a good foundation to build a long-term relationship on, or is it now? Sure, she’s 99.99% made of girlfriend material but Steve… She’s not here to stay.”

A long pause transpires between the two men, dragging on the strain that has been building in Bucky’s chest for the past five weeks now, ever since the new academic year started and he saw Y/N waving enthusiastically at his friend, Steve, and talking animatedly with his friend, Steve. That very moment, he remembers it as if it was yesterday, something just snapped.

He flipped a switch.

Or simply connected the dots.

“Is that why you turned her down?” Steve squints his eyes at James, unable to get a read on his best friend. “Is that why you’re telling me to turn her down? Because if you can’t have her, I can’t have her either?”

“Shit, Steve, where is all of this coming from?”

“You think I didn’t see the way she was ogling you at the masquerade ball last year?”

“Steve, now you’re just… It was our first date, man. Come on, you two weren’t even properly introduced back then. There’s no need to dwell on the past.” Bucky places a firm hand on his friends’ shoulder, guiding him back to the couch before he collapses on site. “You’re not looking good, Stevie, you should rest,” he says reassuringly, patting him on the back.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Steve concedes with a deep sigh. He knows Bucky’s arguments make sense, but is that enough to keep him from dating the girl he’s been in love with from the moment he laid eyes on her?

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

Yet Bucky remains guilt-ridden.

***

November

I’m two rows down from where he is sitting next to Nat’s boyfriend Clint. He’s staring at me, I can feel his ocean of blue swallow me whole, drowning me with memories of last night’s confessions. Fidgeting with the ball pointed pen I borrowed from Sharon, expertly trying to avoid his look of contemplation burning holes in my back, I scribble down an incoherent and vastly unreadable series of nonsense, important terminologies and all other words falling on deaf ears. I’m at a loss for concentration and it’s all his fault. Unable to contain the tension anymore, I take a quick peak over my shoulder and in his general direction. A little smirk crosses his lips when our eyes meet but somehow it doesn’t feel all that genuine to me.

That’s how I know he meant every single word of it.

“I have feelings for you.”

At lunch he conveniently sits at our table, making small talk with Nat about the ridiculously high course load and the amount of papers that are due by the end of this month. I’m mindlessly picking at my food, a foul yet excruciatingly hot chilli con carne rendition that tastes like the devil on a plate, when you quickly slide into the seat next to me and give me a shy smile. Happiness shoots through me, however short-lived as he seems to have taken notice of your unexpected appearance as well.

In no time, he’s scooting over and occupying the chair on my other side before loudly declaring his best friend has finally found some spare time to grace his friends with his presence, never mind his busy agenda. The discomfort is evident on both our faces, Nat attempting to lighten up the mood by introducing you to Clint and steering the conversation towards the holiday seasons slowly creeping up on us.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in light chit-chat and cheerful laughter, albeit a bit forced on my end. James is uncharacteristically interested in anything and everything I have to say about my latest research project, his eyes flickering suspiciously between me and you, grinning widely when I indulge his request for a little more information about my collaborations with professor Stark. Although I do turn down his request for drinks at his place the same evening.

I clearly sensed how you tensed up at James’ sudden boldness, murmuring a quick ‘excuse me’ and leaving without another word. Fishing out my phone, about to text you all the apologies in the world for James’ inexcusable behaviour, although we both know he can be a bit of a jester as of late, Nat snatches the phone from me and gives me a stern look.

Next Monday, you didn’t show up in class and remained absent for an entire week.


	4. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part could also be titled as ‘Fatal Attraction’.

Nat warned me about the two Brooklyn boys but I didn’t listen. “They’ll be the end of you, darling,” she said as she gave me the dead glare. “He’s an Icarus, bound to fall.”

I guess she was right after all.

Last month James told me the truth, that he pushed Steve a little too far away from me. Now I know why poor Stevie has been trying so hard to make up for something he supposedly did wrong, showering me with infinite affection at any given moment. Nat was the first one to notice things with Steve weren’t quite right. Friends continuously tried to set us up but somehow something always came up that was so urgent Steve had to cancel our plans at the last minute. Even Sharon says she doesn’t understand why we’re practically attached at the hip before, during and after class while we apparently act like strangers outside campus ground.

I have yet to tell both girls it was James fucking Barnes who decided to ruin it all when he admitted that he would declare his love for me right this very instant if only it wasn’t for Steve. He has to come clean with his best friend but he just can’t, James can’t lose Steve and especially not over a girl.

But I’ve tainted him. And I guess revenge loves company. So allow me to illuminate you on what caused this mess in the first place.

This is what happened last November:

Rain. Rain, rain and more rain is all I could see. I was completely soaked to the bone and freezing to death. Why didn’t I wear my new denim jacket instead of this flimsy sweater? Why did the weather report speak of sunshine and 20° Celsius if it’s going to rain fucking cats and dogs and be a meagre 5° Celsius at most? Why didn’t I just take my car instead of lending it to Nat for the day?

“Why, oh, why do thy test me?,” I scream into thin air, at the top of my lungs. But it only starts another downpour. Ugh.

About to take my chances and make a run for it, the nearest bus station about a mile away, he shows up out of nowhere. Walking, no – strutting his way over to me, he slides off his blue bomber jacket and wraps it around my shoulders, all the while smirking non-stop as he catches me eying him suspiciously. It’s very unlike James to offer any girl whatsoever his precious jacket, so why is he suddenly being so generous? It’s not that I minded, it only gave me a more clear view of the crisp white t-shirt snugly hugging his muscles.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, glaring daggers at him for making such a stupid remark. Holding his hands up as to apologise for being a thoughtful prick, he takes a step back in order to fully take in my appearance. He nods in approval, grinning widely in amusement, my eyes trained on him still. Although I do chuckle just a little when I feel his warmth transfer to my body, lips caving in and twitching into a grateful smile, I’m still having my doubts about this sudden change in demeanour.

“You look good with my clothes on, Y/N.”

“Don’t use your tricks on me, James. I’m immune to your charm,” I warn him but he seems to remain completely unaffected by my defiance, prancing towards me with a slight skip in his step. James stops short right in front of me and I’m able to smell his cologne. It’s completely different from Steve’s, who reminds me of hiking trips, chopping wood and campfires. A blend of Indian grass, citrus and spice. It’s romantic and smart. But James, he’s something else entirely. Lighter notes of bitter orange and vanilla mixing perfectly with stronger notes of amber and sage. He’s the Mediterranean, all fresh air and crispness and so very intimidating to your senses to say the least.

“You sure, doll?,” he teases, his face so close to mine our breaths mingle and it takes every ounce of willpower in me not to lean in just a tad more and close the distance between us. Perhaps even seal it with a kiss.

Stop right there, Y/N.

I must persevere.

Because I love Steve.

Although he has yet to say it back.

I pinch the bridge of my nose in both frustration with James and disappointment in myself for even thinking about making out with him. Truth is, I’ve always wondering what it would feel like and I guess the desire hasn’t left my system just yet. Shit, I’m not over James.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Stop it, James,” I threaten half-heartedly. There’s fire in my veins and my lips are itching to connect with his. The devil on my shoulder is telling me to go for it and grab him by the collar, but the angel on my other shoulder is pleading me to give it up, after all he will never truly be mind. “Don’t come any closer or I will take a swing at you and I must caution you, I have a mean right hook.”

“Y/N, doll, now you’re just being silly.” A sigh escapes James’ lips and for a minute he squeezes his eyes shut, breaking the carefree state of mind he has so carefully constructed for himself, wiping away that haughty yet fake smile almost splitting his face in two. 

But when he opens his eyes again, there’s a flicker of lust darkening them, his sapphire orbs almost completely fading into the black.

Before I can process what’s happening, he shoves me against the wall, caging me with his arms and keeping me in place with his athletic body pressing against mine. Our foreheads touch and just like in the library his lips ghosts over mine, the change in proximity drawing shallow breaths from both of us.

“I want you,” he whispers darkly against my lips, his voice deep and hoarse and I’ve never heard anything more attractive. “I have feelings for you. I want you. I want to sleep with you, Y/N,” he coaxes, his words obviously tainted with lust and his tone unmistakably laced with desire.

It’s out of his control now, the words having finally left the confinement of his mind. He intends to corrupt you like you have corrupted him. You’re a binding force. You’re toxic, that familiar scent dancing around the hallways, causing him to take a slow, long breath. And that familiar voice, that familiar laugh, it’s enough to send him off into ecstasy. You’re so genuine, so sincere, so real. You don’t need to feign interest in anything, you’re always looking out for everyone, you don’t take shit from anyone and that includes him as well. His heart skips a beat every single time he reminds himself that you’re not his to claim anymore but he can’t bring himself to delete your presence from his mind altogether.

You have conquered every fibre of his being and now you’re looking up at him with these big, doe eyes and it’s driving him insane. He was so lucky to have you but he was too much a coward to show you the vulnerability he had been nursing behind the scenes. He was afraid that you would be the one to break his heart. So instead of suffering the consequences if that ever happened, he chose to break your heart first.

Nevertheless, you’re like an addiction and he doesn’t want to sober up just yet.

“Tell me you want that too.” His eyes travel down your body before grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you tightly against him. His strong hands dig into your hips as his lips slide over yours. “Tell me you want to fuck me too,” he says before crashed his lips on yours, drawing a moan from deep inside your throat. He doesn’t even have enough patience to wait for you to give him permission and immediately slides his tongue past your lips.

You’re shivering underneath his touch, torn between pushing him away with all your might or pull him closer with all that you are. When you don’t push him away straightaway, he takes it as a sign to continue his ministrations. James growls into the kiss, one hand finding its way back into your hair and the other running down your chest. He lingers at the V-neck of your thin cotton sweater that fit you like a glove and hugs your generous curves beautifully.

“I’m going to mark you up, doll,” he groans, a proud smirk on his face when he sees your flushed cheeks and flustered expression. He sure did a number on you but he isn’t finished yet. With his nose he traces your jawline all the way down your neck until he reaches the curve of your breasts, where your skin is sheltered by the cups of your lace bra. With one swift tug of his fingers, he pulls your sweater a tad lower so he can place a soft kiss between your breasts. But James soon grows hungrier, sucking and nipping at the tender skin, making good on his promise.

“Tell me, Y/N. I can almost feel how wet you are for me right now,” he says between hot, open-mouthed kisses leaving your skin warm with aspiration. Wedging his knee between your legs, he parts them just enough to grind his prominent bulge against you, creating the friction he has been yearning for.

“God, James,” you whimper as you feel the rush of arousal pooling between your legs. “I am, James, my God, I am.”

He momentarily releases you from his hold, his eye shimmering in the faint glow of the street lights further down the road. There’s a gloomy smile etched on his face, his puppy dog eyes imprinted on your mind.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he confesses with a heavy heart as he cups your face in his hands, kissing the top of your head in a moment of tenderness. It’s gone before you can register it has ever happened. He grips your wrists tightly, pinning them above your head.

“Please choose me,” is the last thing he says before your bodies collide again.


	5. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, it really is goodbye.

January

It all pretty much went downhill from here, with one more month to go before I’m on that plane towards my next adventure. I always thought that if I would just give him some more time, wait a little while longer, under the impression that he would love me when he was ready.

Turns out it was I that wasn’t ready.

All I have ever wanted was someone who actually listened to me, to find someone that has something meaningful to say instead of the usual gibberish I’m done dealing with on a daily basis. So many fellow students approach me, either because they know my face from somewhere and decide to act upon their suspicions, starting a long conversation that mostly ends in a monologue about how they admire me and how they aspire to be like me one day, working alongside a well-known name in the academic field, much like professor Stark.

Then there are others who want to hear my thoughts and feelings on a particular issue and yet again the conversations ends up being a monologue as all I’m really doing is sharing my knowledge with people who only appreciate me for just that, my knowledge and not my personality.

It’s bad enough feeling everyone’s eyes on you, but it’s even worse when they fail to see how much you’re hurting.

“Tell me what happened, Y/N. Take small gulps of water, I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“What are the signs of a panic attack?”

“How do I know? I’m not a nurse! But Wanda’s mother is one! Want me to call her up?”

“Yes please,” I sob quietly as Nat reaches for the phone, her fingers typing in Wanda’s cell phone number which she knows by heart.

I’m at the apartment and according to Wanda and her mother, I am exhibiting clear symptoms of an anxiety attack. I’m having difficulties breathing, my heart is racing like a NASCAR and I can’t hold onto my glass of water properly because my hands are shaking and my fingers have gone numb. I’m feeling so weak and judging by the look on Nat’s face, I’m as white as a sheet of paper, about to faint any minute now. Drops of sweat are trickling down my forehead and staining my cheeks, their salty flavour hitting my taste buds with a bitterness I am most certainly not used to. I don’t cry very often, even when I have every reason to. I mostly prefer to keep the tears behind bars, my emotions bottled up. But not tonight, tonight the world came crumbling down under my feet, when I had everything I had ever wanted right in front of me and instead of embracing it with open arms, I ran. I fucking ran.

Because it was everything I used to want.

When we first started hanging out, I couldn’t believe that a man like James Buchanan Barnes would ever be interested in the likes of me. Which he wasn’t, not really anyway, and it took me a while to realise it. But then out of nowhere he made a move and he put his heart on the line as he gave in to his feelings for me. He didn’t love me then, but he loves me now. And I ran. I fucking ran.

Because he is everything I used to want.

One year ago, I would’ve killed to hear those words fall from his lips. There was no one else but James for me, I was dedicated to him. We had so many ‘unofficial’ dates as Nat liked to call them, going out for coffee together or go to the movies after class, his arm casually draped around my waist when we went out for drinks with a couple mutual friends. Yet he backed away every single time I reached out to him.

I did everything in my power to make him fall as much in love with me as I had fallen in love with him. But now? I don’t love him the way I loved him one year ago. We don’t talk that much like before and we certainly don’t flirt anymore.

God, my chest hurts so much.

“So you two made out, and then what? Did you screw him?,” Nat asks bluntly in an attempt to keep my mind focused on anything else except the sense of dread clouding my vision, unknowingly rubbing more salt into the wound. She’s my dearest friend but when it comes to love, she always goes straight for the kill while I tend to saunter about first, unsure of what to do next.

“No! No, nothing like that.”

I pushed him away when his hands wandered close to the danger zone, his fingers playing with the button of my jeans. I didn’t want him to see me naked, although his touch was like the fourth of July to all my senses. But it’s not my naked body that’s the issue, in fact I’m very comfortable with how I look. It’s about him seeing me, seeing me for who I really am. It would only leave me exposed to a man that says he loves me.

Neither did I want him to fuck me blind because the gravitational pull between us is nothing but lethal. Even though fate somehow always manages to push me towards him when I have strayed too far from the path she has spread out of me, we have nothing more in common than the fact that we just don’t want to be alone in this world.

“Y/N, keep your eyes on me,” Nat urges as my eyelids threaten to fall. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“I ran out on him. When he said he couldn’t think of anything or anyone else but me, it was as if I saw my entire life flash by in front of me. I just couldn’t do it, so I ran. I fucking ran.”

When our lips connected afterwards, I experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. Images of our first date to the masquerade ball came rushing back to me, images of Steve asking me if I wanted someone to walk me home since Bucky was clearly having too much fun to pay any attention to me. It was supposed to be our night, only turning out quite differently, Steve acting as my knight in shining armour. Steve didn’t even know me that well and yet here he was, offering his help to me.

But then I remembered how Bucky tended to my every need when I had been taken ill, spending all his free time helping me catch up on my classes and assignments, occasionally dropping by with some chicken soup when I wasn’t feeling very well or Chinese take-out on a bad day. James is a man of contrasts and I’m not quite sure if I can live with that. He is gorgeous, but behind all that beauty lies a tormented soul. He doesn’t know who he is, so why am I expecting him to know what love is, what love looks and feels like? How can I expect him to be true to his feelings for me, if he has any feelings for me, if he can’t overcome his insecurities first?

“I realised that we had a good run, even if we were never really a couple. It’s over.”

When James kissed me, it was earth-shattering, ground-breaking and it felt so fucking good. But it was wrong, so wrong.

“Has he tried calling you?,” Nat inquires tentatively.

I shake my head no. “But Steve left me a voicemail. He wants to talk.”

“You think he knows?”

Steve and I, our relationship is one big series of small yet significant moments that are scattered throughout the past year. From when he allowed me to run my hands through his sandy hair just because I felt like it. Or that time when he bought me a single red rose to wish me a happy birthday and took me dancing afterwards, just because I had asked him to. He has been there for me all along but I was so blind and I lost so much time trying to convince myself I wasn’t falling for him, time that I could’ve spend telling him that I had indeed fallen for him.

I shake my head in confirmation. “Yes. But I think he chooses to stay ignorant.”

“Bucky went haywire on me last night, said he needed some time to cool off. I have no idea what’s going on with him and I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation since the last thing he said was that you and I could both go to hell. What on earth is going on?”

Steve wasn’t exaggerating, their apartment was trashed to the ground and it was all thanks to James. He evidently took my rejection a lot harder than I had anticipated. “I don’t know what to say, I don’t know where to start.”

Steve didn’t know anything, which made this all the more painful. I had to break the news to him now or I would never forgive myself for it.

I had to break his heart.

“Steve, Bucky and I, we…”

He reached out for your hand, his thumb trailing circles over your skin. “Y/N, I know you had a thing for him, but you don’t have to keep secrets from me. I trust you.”

You wanted to set him free so badly, but those final three words stopped you from doing so, stirring up thoughts of all those times you had leaned in closer to kiss him, his twinkling blue eyes giving you the go-ahead. But then he would always hesitate a little too long and then the moment would be gone.

And that broke your heart.

“But do you love me?,” you countered, only to be met with silence. When James kissed you, it was passionate and it was electrifying. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t take his sweet time. He just dove in head-first.

Steve never did.

“You want to know what happened that has got him so upset? Last night James told me he loved me. But in my heart I know this too shall pass, James isn’t capable of loving anyone and yet I let myself believe that it was possible. I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have kissed him back, I shouldn’t have allowed him to hypnotise me with his charm and his wit. Last night, I let myself get carried away because I don’t know where we stand. I love you, more than I have ever loved James. Which is why I didn’t sleep with him, like he asked me to. I might still carry a soft spot for James, but I’m also so hung up on you, Steve.”

He placed his hand on your cheek and another on your hip, his face flooded with emotions, the primary one being guilt. Steve felt guilty, he felt like he was responsible for your lack of judgement when it came to Bucky. “I swear I will make it right, just please, Y/N, don’t leave me.”

You step away from him, swallowing down the nausea. His face contorts into an expression of hurt, remorse and most of all, self-blame.

“You sound just like James, begging me to pick a side. That’s not how love works, Steve, there’s no picking sides. You won me over and then you fucked me up. So perhaps it is time for me to leave because neither one of you will ever truly love me. Steve, it took James one year. I don’t want to get hurt the same way a second time, I can’t wait for you like I waited for James. It would kill me inside and that’s why I have to go. If things would’ve been solid between us, I would’ve asked you to wait for me. I love you, Steve, but I can’t expect you to wait for me now.”

You cup his clean-shaven jaw, locking eyes with his intense blue ones and wavering at the tears stinging them, iridescent in the low light of the morning.

“I get it, James was your first love. But you are my first love. Y/N,” he says, taking your hands in his, “I do love you with all my heart and that scares me to death. I tried to keep you at bay because I’m not sure I can do this long-distance relationship thing. I desperately want you to be my girl, believe me, I really do. I want this to last. I don’t care if you kissed Bucky or not. All I care about is you.”

You stiffened at his answer, completely and utterly paralysed.

“All I care about is you,” Steve repeats. His soft lips press a small kiss to your temple, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you in for a last embrace. He breathes a long breath, breathing you all in one last time. “I can’t promise I won’t wait for you,” Steve whispers in your ear, giving your cheek one final peck.

Then he is gone and you’re shattered.


	6. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You find out Tony has made some arrangements behind your back and you decide to confront him about it.

One week before my grand escape, my leap of faith into the great big unknown (just kidding, it’s only Norway), I received a letter from the faculty explaining that professor A. Stark had signed over my research to a certain professor B. Banner. My transfer was effective immediately.

I was pissed, so pissed. Pissed at Tony, at whoever this professor Banner might be. Pissed at those fuckers in Norway who dare lay a finger on my precious work and at the world for treating me like a piece of shit. Because that’s exactly what I felt like.

I felt like shit.

So now I’m drunk as fuck and sitting at the desk of my ex-mentor, professor Stark. I don’t know when I got this bold or where I got the fucking nerve from to barge in like this, but I did know where he kept his fancy bourbon. I pulled out the bottle stashed away at the back of his bottom drawer and poured myself a glass or two. Or maybe it was three or four, I don’t really remember. The point is that the bottle had been almost empty and I wasn’t thinking clearly by the time he found me, legs up on his mahogany desk and singing nineties pop songs like a cat being dragged into the water. And cats absolutely loathe water.

He gently lifted me out of his chair and carried me towards his couch, my arms lazily wrapped around his neck. I’m just a bunch of dead weight in his arms but he doesn’t seem to mind. After he lies me down, the black leather welcoming me in its indulgent embrace, he tucks back a couple swirls of hair behind my ear before crouching on his knees before me. He looks me straight in the eye while he tries to talk some sense into me.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Darling, please, tell me what brought you here and I will do everything in my power to make it better. Y/N, my dear, what has gotten into you? This isn’t like you.”

You slowly open your eyes and when you do, you are met with an abundance of warmth. You had never really taken a moment to appreciate the colour of his eyes, the shade of copper coins you keep in your back pocket and the aged whiskey you treated yourself with upon arrival. His eyes are boring into you as he measures up how far gone you are but the only thing you can think about is how gorgeous, so very gorgeous his eyes are, harbouring a mischievous sparkle and crinkling at the corners when he smiles that devious smirk you’ve grown so used to. An old fox with new tricks or at least that’s what Nat thinks of him.

But those are not the eyes you long to see right now.

“Everything is so fucked up. I rejected Bucky, broke up with Steve and this morning, I found out you robbed me of my research, shipped me off like cargo to a guy named Banner without even consulting with me first! You stabbed me in the back, you kept me in the dark. I put all my hope in you, professor, and you let me down.”

“Y/N, at least let me explain.” You could hear the hurt in his voice shining through and you instantly felt like such a bitch for putting him on the spot like that. He didn’t deserve your insults, he was just doing his job.

But your mouth is quicker than your conscience.

“No! I don’t need any more lousy excuses, God knows I’ve heard enough of those already. And you know what, I don’t need those two Brooklyn boys! What I need is a real man, a Manhattan man. Mum was right after all,” you groan loudly.

“Y/N, if you would just let me finish.” You snapped out of your thoughts at the authoritative nature his voice had taken, a tone he rarely used with you. But his eyes soon softened as he took in your astounded expression, he understood where you anger was coming from.

“Y/N, I am not the right person to assist you. I barely have time to be your mentor now, how on earth are we going to be able to work together when we’re miles apart? My good friend over in Norway, Bruce, he offered to step in for me while you’re abroad. So when you return we’ll pick up right where we left off. I’m sorry I didn’t run this through you first, but time was of the essence here. We needed the board and the ethical committee to approve on this as soon as possible and we both know how long it can take for them to review a decision like this.”

You sighed, hiding your face in the pillows to avoid eye contact. “I feel like such a fool.”

“You’re wasted, love,” Tony chuckles. “And you’re very feisty when you are, I like a girl that can bite back,” he jokes quietly, the palm of his hand resting on your cheek tinted pink with mortification. You slowly look up to meet his gaze. Tony cards his fingers through your hair, his smile telling you to not worry too much about it.

“That’s not very professional of you to say, professor Stark,” you retort, laughing lightly.

“I know, but I don’t give a shit. Feeling better already, dear?”

You nod and he helps you back up, head spinning wildly from the sudden switch in position. He sits down next to you and you lay your head to rest on his shoulder. “And please, Y/N, call me Tony,” he says as he drapes his arm over your shoulder and takes your hand in his, interlacing your fingers and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Tony. I know you only did it to help me and I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass about it.”

“No need for apologies, Y/N. You’re my favourite assistant, you know that. You don’t work for me, you work with me. My team is basically your team as well, they even call you the ‘Lady Boss’.”

You scoff, turning your head to face him. “What kind of title is that? I prefer Mother of Dragons.”

He shakes his head at your folly. “I swear I’m going to miss you, kiddo.”

Tony has dark circles hugging his eyes and a light scruff decorating his cheeks, his usually immaculate haircut unkempt. “You look tired, have you gotten any sleep lately?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly but he holds on to your hand a little tighter. “I can’t.”

“Don’t, Tony. You know how important it is that you get some rest. Please let me help you.”

“You should help yourself first by telling me what’s been going on in that pretty little head of yours, Y/N. Tell me about those Brooklyn boys you mentioned earlier.”

You cringe visibly, reluctant to stir up that particular hornet’s nest again. “Tony, are you sure? It ain’t got a happy ending.”

“I don’t mind, I’m here for you. Now, talk, get it off your chest.”

You blink away the tears threatening to spill from your tear ducts, the memory still too fresh as you reveal everything to Tony, from the very beginning till the very end. About how you and James dated on and off for a couple months before he broke things off, how you cried yourself to sleep every night, how you think that at some point Nat lost count as well which is why she dragged you out to party for an entire week straight, trying her best to cheer you up.

But you also told him the real change happened when you met Steve. “Now, I know you can’t stand the guy but please, Tony, hear me out first.”

He huffs but says nothing although his brown eyes give away more than he’d like.

“Steve,” you sigh languidly, “Steve’s a dream. He’s thoughtful and has such a kind heart, there’s a softness in his smile at all times and he loves the forties just as much as I do, even went to one of those period dances with me. Steve’s creativity knows no end and he is such an amazing artist. We even made a deal, I would model for his sketches and he would model for my photographs.”

“If everything was so perfect, where did it go sideways?”

You decide to give him a shorter version of all your past mistakes right up until what happened yesterday afternoon, the epitome of all your misery, the final drop that flooded your proverbial bucket. Class had been dismissed an hour earlier than expected and as you reached your apartment, you saw Clint’s car parked outside. Deciding you didn’t want to interrupt the two love birds, you texted Wanda and asked if you could join her at the library where she usually resides at this hour. Whilst waiting for a reply, you already made your way towards the library and just as you were about to reach out for the door handle, you felt something buzzing in your jacket pocket. Quickly fishing out your phone, you stared at the screen in confusion, one simple word lightening up on the display.

No.

Wanda didn’t want you at the library, surely you hadn’t done anything to upset her? You figured that the best approach was to ask her straightaway and as you pushed through the double doors and inside the library, your eyes immediately fell upon a familiar presence and you promptly realised why Wanda had reacted the way she did. Sitting only two seats away from Wanda, hunched over a couple textbooks with his headphones on, was James. And all of a sudden, as if God himself is mocking you, his head shot up and your eyes locked, his grey gaze falling over your body like a bucket of ice cold water. His eyes were void of any emotion and you felt yourself slowly slipping away in the bottomless pit you created for yourself.

There was no need for words anymore, because you just knew, you knew you had royally screwed up. “I am dead to him now.”

You look so tiny compared to the strong character you usually exhibited, void of your talent for light-hearted chatter making everyone feel at ease almost instantly. A loud sob escapes your lips and Tony gives you a sympathetic half-smile, shushing and comforting you until you have calmed down a bit.

“It’s a disaster,” you reply with a wry smile, the alcohol wearing off and the urge to cry again sinking in. “Tony, I lied to both of them! I didn’t want to be tied to a sallow heart like James’, so I told him no when I wanted to say yes. But I also couldn’t stay with Steve after kissing James and all those old emotions came flooding back to me. How can I be in love with both of them if it’s killing me inside? It’s killing me to love them, which I why I have to go. I have to go.”

Another heartbeat passes and Tony is clearly rendered speechless by your words. He feels bad for you, torn up by love and now clutching onto him as if he’s the only rock-solid thing that’s left in her world. Perhaps he is. “That’s a lot of weight to carry around all by yourself, kiddo.” Tony spoke softly to you, gently brushing the tears away with his thumb.

Perhaps he is.


	7. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak.

March next year

“You sure I’m doing the right thing, Bruce?”

“I know that you love him and I’m certain that he will make you a very happy wife,” Bruce replied thoughtfully as he adjusted his black framed glasses, giving you a sincere smile. “But accepting his hand in marriage will not come easily. I’m not going to lie to you, when you came to me and told me the good news, I was very surprised. Your engagement comes unexpectedly, so your friends back home will undoubtedly be surprised as well. ”

The ring around your finger has never felt this heavy before, the nerves finally catching up on you in the aftermath of recent events. Officially only six months into the relationship, but you had been dating for almost nine months at the time, your boyfriend had proposed to you by getting down on one knee at the annual university ball. It was quite the spectacle, women in extravagant ball gowns and men clad in hand-tailored tuxedos clapping wildly at this sudden public display of affection. They were gawking at you so naturally you were at a loss for words. You were overwhelmed to say the least, barely able to choke out an answer before his strong arms embraced you and he lifted you off the ground, tears of happiness streaming down his face, grinning like a complete idiot.

Of course you had said yes and now you’re on an evening flight back home to break the news to your friends and family that you are indeed going to marry a certain blond individual that has stolen your heart and has never given it back. Not that you minded, although there were still a couple of things left that troubled you.

“Yeah, I know. His brother told me the same thing.” You didn’t however tell Bruce that Loki had in fact threatened to make your life miserable if you didn’t accept his proposal.

“Thank you for tagging along with me, I really appreciate it and I think Tony will be happy to see you again as well,” you said to Bruce, turning to a more hassle-free subject for conversation, giving his arm a little squeeze before returning to the book in your lap.

“Anything for the Mother of Dragons,” he teased, a small grin playing on his lips and you couldn’t help but erupt into laughter immediately because did professor Bruce Banner just make a joke?

“I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor,” you admit, “Which reminds me that I owe Tony another series of apologies. I really gave him quite a lip for it.”

“Y/N,” Bruce sighs, “Tony is never going to hold that against you, he likes you way too much for that.”

“True,” you say cheerily, your mood picking up again at the prospect of seeing your good friend again.

“Just don’t tell him you like me better,” Bruce winks and again you’re clutching your stomach as a bouldering laugh escapes your lips, making everyone on the plane turn their head in your direction and shoot you a couple dirty glances.

“Lemme see that ring, Y/N,” Nat urges with obvious delight. If there’s one person more excited than your own mother about your upcoming nuptials, it’s your best friend. You suspect she has already picked out her bridesmaid’s dress but decide to hold off on that topic just yet, the prenuptial bliss enough to keep you in denial for a little while longer.

“That is one giant rock!,” she exclaims, gasping dramatically as to illustrate her point.

“You told me he was loaded but this,” she points at the diamond around your finger, eyes wide with exhilaration, “this truly is a ring fit for a princess alright.”

“I still can’t believe it. How did I end up here?”

“Well, allow me to jog your memory,” she says light-heartedly, arching a perfectly sculpted red eyebrow at you, “About a year ago you went on a foreign exchange to Norway and met this handsome blond stud named Thor who just happened to be an attending resident at professor Banner’s research facility. He needed some assistance and you were more than happy to volunteer and help him study for finals. One thing led to another and, do you need me to go on or…?,” she teases and you playfully jab her in the side.

“He’s not the brightest of students but he sure as hell is a sweetheart. A bit blunt and a little rough around the edges, but nothing a woman’s touch can’t fix.” You shoot her a wink and you giggle together at the absurdity of the situation. A year ago you were crying over two Brooklyn boys and now, now you’re engages to a Norwegian god!

Your glee is cut short when dark clouds fall over Wanda’s elated expression, who has been silently studying the exchange between you and Nat, waiting for the appropriate time to congratulate you. Something is clearly bothering her and you notice straightaway, urging her to speak up about what has gotten her so worried.

“I hate to spoil the mood, but have you told Steve yet? Or James for that matter? Has Nat already spoken to you about Sharon?,” Wanda blurts out, earning a pointed look from Nat. You give her an uncomfortable smile at first but as her words sink in, your smile falters and is quickly replaced by a confused look. Your eyes search her eyes for an answer but she’s clearly afraid to say more.

“What about Sharon?,” you inquire cautiously, wondering what on earth Sharon has to do with either Steve or James. She can’t stand James and although she once told you Steve’s a really nice guy, she’s never shown any interest towards him whatsoever.

Nat sighs heavily, carding her slender fingers through her red locks, guilt etched onto her face and your stomach churns in anxious anticipation. “Okay, spoil sport,” she snarls at Wanda but her gaze softens as soon as she locks eyes with you. “Might as well get it over with. Y/N, please bear in mind that I didn’t tell you because I was just trying to protect you from getting hurt again.”

“Nat,” I say dryly, warning her not to overstep any boundaries nor to test my patience and good will. “If there’s something I ought to know, I’d rather have it you spill it now before I strangle you with my bare hands for keeping quiet for so long.”

“God, where do I even start?” Nat throws her hands in the air and draws an exasperated breath, exhaling deeply before continuing her story.

“As soon as you left, Steve kicked Bucky out and he’s been sleeping on our couch ever since, drinking excessively and muttering an impressive and very creative string of profanities every time I try to do something about it. He’s a mess, Y/N, but then again so is Steve.”

By now you’re fighting back the tears, nodding determinedly for Nat to keep talking. You want to know everything that has transpired during your absence, even if it means crying yourself to sleep all over again.

“Steve… Steve’s been going out more and more, picking up girls from bars even I don’t go to. He used to flirt with this girl, Peggy I think her name was, but we all knew she was just rebound. Rebound for you. She seemed like a nice enough girl and they did look the part as a couple. He even took it down a notch for as long as they were together although it didn’t last very long. According to Clint she left him because he just couldn’t shut up about you. But Steve wasn’t heartbroken for very long and continued fluttering from one flower to another. After a while the guys got sick of having to deal with his antics and told him to man up.”

“Pietro didn’t take it too well either,” Wanda says, taking over from Nat who was struggling to keep her composure. She absolutely hated telling you this, she absolutely hated those two boys for doing this to you. But she could also see in the depths of your eyes that you needed to hear this, you needed to know in order to move on.

“Pietro stuck up for you, called Steve out on his erratic behaviour. Pietro tried to make him realise that acting out like this wasn’t going to get you back. He told Steve to stay away from the booze and the girls and also made it very clear that if he doesn’t get a grip on himself very soon, he’ll end up just like Bucky, miserable and alone and occupying Nat’s couch. We thought it would make him come to his senses but Steve hasn’t even bothered reaching out to any of us.”

“I could’ve sworn he got his act back together! I thought he was back with Peggy and that she had managed to straighten him up a bit!,” Nat suddenly interjects, her ears as red as her hair, obviously fuming with anger at the memory. “That is, until I accidentally overheard a conversation between her and Sharon. It never crossed my mind that those two girls knew each other. Anyway, that’s how I found out.”

“Y/N,” Wanda gently says your name in an attempt to shut Nat up, her hot-headed fury and clear dismay only adding more fuel to the fire slowly burning you up inside. Her voice is soothing to your ears, nevertheless the message is like a bullet to the heart. “Y/N, Sharon and Steve are dating and apparently he’s already sealed the deal with a ring.”

Ring. It’s the only word that stands out to you. It’s nothing short of a blunt force trauma and your head is all over the place, shaking it fiercely as tears cascade into the pitch-black void that is your reality. “They’re engaged, too?”

If it hurts this much, then it must be love, right?

Right.


	8. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally muster up the courage to go see Steve, but things take an unexpected turn and you’re both hurting even more.

We both went our separate ways and ended up right back where it all started. When I saw him again after all these months, sitting in his usual spot at the back of the cafeteria, right there by that poor plant that still seems to be getting too much water for its own good,

my heart stopped.

Never mind skipping a beat, it stopped.

As did his when you locked eyes and Sharon’s hearty laugh immediately died down. Steve stopped talking the minute I set foot in the cafeteria, drawing a tiresome sigh from Sharon who, if looks could kill, would’ve send me straight to hell.

I notice the similarities straightaway, the ruffled blond hair and the athletic built of his toned body, his chiselled jaw and ripped torso that’s always struggling with his shirts and I’m 100% positive he buys them one size too small.

On purpose.

Steve should be wearing a large at least if he wishes to comply to the current academic standards and very strict dress code (almost as constricting as his pants, if you don’t mind me saying). But I don’t think the fashion police is going to shoot him down for wearing a medium though, especially not if it accentuates him this well and in all the fucking right places.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves now.

It’s just that Steve and Thor have quite a bit in common, so it’s safe to say I have a type.

I like blond? Shit, I take more after my mother than I initially thought.

“Mind if we talk in private?”

Fuck, my voice is so small, almost non-existent. And fuck, my internal voice really should stop cussing. I’m trying to get a hold of myself, but it’s of no use against Steve.

“Not at all.” His voice seems to be calm and friendly, just like old times. It’s almost as if you didn’t get on that plane and he didn’t just propose to the woman you once called your friend.

Oh, the irony.

You guide him to a quiet spot just around the vending machines, the buzzing too loud for anyone to catch anything you’re about to say. Unless you scream, that is.

“You look nice.”

I do? Has he even taken a good, hard look at me at all? I’m a mess, I am hungover and I’m trying to flush my jetlag down the drain with gallons and gallons of water. I’ve already drunk so much water I might as well be the fucking Titanic! And not to mention my scruffy outfit, it’s almost as scruffy as the beard Steve’s growing and my poor soul be damned if it doesn’t make him look so much more delicious. Does this man get away with everything? Meantime, I’m sporting my favourite pair of blue skinny jeans, a pair of black flats and a floral blouse that’s missing the top button, showing a little bit more cleavage than I’m comfortable with.

Ugh, I look like shit.

“Thank you. I like your shirt.” Really smooth, Y/N. Compliment him on his shirt, the shirt you’ve just been drooling over.

He shrugs nonchalantly but there’s a little twinkle in his eyes that gives him away. “I’m not surprised. After all, it’s purple, your favourite colour.”

“You remember.” Of course he remembers, it’s been a fucking year, that’s all. It’s not like you disappeared off the surface of the earth.

It does sting a little, just a little to hear you haven’t quite left his mind just yet. He obviously does still care for you. “You’re a hard woman to forget.”

Okay, forget about what I just said. It hurts a lot. A lot.

“How long have you been back?”

“About a month now. Professor Banner and I have been staying at Tony’s at first but then I moved back in with Nat and Wanda. Can’t come home without seeing my girls or I wouldn’t be calling it a home in the first place.”

You let out a light laugh, trying to lift the mood with that small smile you know he just can’t resist. That small, cheeky smile you used to grace him with whenever you were feeling mischievous, whenever you felt like taking good ol’ Stevie out on an adventure. Like that time you crashed a party at Sam’s place so you could ask Steve if he wanted to catch a movie, only to end up downing shots until four in the morning at your local bar and making out on Sam’s couch afterwards – his apartment only a short walk from the pub. Of course he ran in on the two of you on his way to class and you’ll never forget the look on his face, a look of infinite disgust mixed with complete and utter delight. You’ve never seen him more happy than the day he saw the two of you sucking face right in front of him. The day you chose Steve over James.

Or at least thought you did.

“I see. What made you come back all of a sudden?,” Steve asks hesitantly, not knowing if that’s the question he really wants to ask you or if it’s an answer he really wants to know.

And now the ball is in your camp. Do you tell him you’re engaged or keep him off your scent for a little while longer? “Professor Banner, I mean, Bruce… He, uhm,…”

You’ve made tough decisions before, but this? This beats all of them. This right here is the best and the worst decision you’re ever going to make. “Bruce asked me to come work for him.”

You deflect the question. Wait, let me repeat that.

You. Deflect. The question.

“He’s actually discussing it with Tony as we speak.” And if you could, you would face-palm yourself immediately. You’re trying to make amends, not scare the guy for fuck’s sake!

“How long are you going to be gone now?”

“The internship will take about two, maybe three years but there is so much to be taken care of first. I need a work visa, I need a certificate and other official documents. I’m afraid it’ll take a while before everything is sorted out and I can…”

He cuts you off, his brows knitted together in an unfriendly frown. “You’re leaving for good then,” he concludes, his jaw visibly clenched and he’s shooting you a hard glare telling you he means business.

And it really pisses you off.

“Steve, don’t. Don’t blame all this shit on me,” you begin only to be interrupted by Steve once more.

“I’m not blaming you, I’m just asking a question. Am I not allowed to asks questions anymore? Seems to me like you’ve won the God damn lottery! A dream job in your dream country, messing around with some big nerds and discussing hard-core science and all that shit like it’s the resurrection of sweet baby Jesus.”

You knew there would be blow-back but you didn’t see this coming, the sheer wrath reddening his eyes with tears of rage and resentment and by the looks of it, he isn’t even finished yet. There’s more dirt on your way, more and more and more to come, Steve’s swallowed by his fury.

“Everything is just fucking perfect in your life right now, isn’t it? Meanwhile I’ve been drinking myself into the gutter and I fucked up a good friendship, for what? For you! But I don’t count anymore, now do I? Because it seems like you’ve found your dream husband as well,” he spits out, pointing at the ring around your finger.

“He’s not you.” It’s a broken whisper but it manages to shut him up nonetheless. You raise your head to look at him, look him straight in the eye when you speak with your heart on your tongue, with your and his heart on the line. “He’s not you Steve.”

“And Sharon’s not you either,” he responds after a moment. “Y/N, for all it’s worth, I still love you.”

You look at him in utter confusion. “If you love me still, then what are you doing with Sharon? Do you love her? Do you love Sharon?”

Silence. Nothing but silence.

“Do you think you love her?” you try again and he turns away from your piercing gaze, staring outside the window, his eyes trained on something that isn’t there.

And again there’s silence.

“Please answer me Steve,” you beg silently and you’ve never begged for anything in your life. Is Steve truly worth begging for? At this moment you believe he is, so you pour every single emotion into your next question, knowing that this time round it truly is all or nothing. “Do you love her or do you think you love her?”

“I think I do,” he replies softly. “I think I do but I’m not sure,” he begins and you’re trying very hard to hear him out.

But you can’t.

“You think you do but you’re not sure?” A broken sob rips through you and you’ve never felt this wrecked in your entire life. Blood rushes to your face as you repeat his words. “You’re not sure? My God, Steve, how many times are you going to break my heart?”

You raise your voice the highest you can get and you don’t care anymore whether or not everyone can hear every single word that comes out of your mouth, it all tastes like poison anyway. They tumble out and you’re no longer scared to hurt Steve, he’s hurt you enough as it is.

“First James, then you, then James back at it, then you again… It’s like this endless game of back-and-forth. I’m not a ping-pong ball, Steve! You boys both broke my heart over and over and over again until there was nothing left of it. I needed a year, a year Steve, to collect all the bits and pieces and put it back together. Yes, I had a little help from my fiancé, but this right here?” You point to Steve and then back at you, his pained expression like a magnet pulling you in by your heartstrings but you honestly don’t have the strength anymore to reciprocate his desolation, no matter how wretched you feel. He’s sucked all the life out of you.

“It’s not fair to me and it’s not fair to him either. I can’t say ‘I do’ when he doesn’t… Thor doesn’t know I’m still…,” you choke on your words, a strangled sob creeping up your throat and you swallow hard. You can’t tell him that you still love him, too. It would only mean your defeat, he would only try and talk you out of it and you don’t want that. You don’t want Steve to talk you out of it because it would work, he would be able to convince you to leave Thor. It’s Steve and no one can compare to Steve.

No one.

“All you need to know is that I would only mean half of it, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Then let’s go! I can ditch Sharon right this very instant! She can keep the fucking ring for all I care!” He’s shouting just as much and as loud as you are, stressing every angry syllable. “I want you! I’ve always wanted you, ever since I first laid eyes on you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?,” you counter almost instantly, laughing bitterly at the absurdity of the situation. Steve finally, FINALLY tells you exactly what you’ve been dying to hear all those months but the flame has died down, the house has turned to ashes. It means nothing to you anymore, your heart frozen over by the Norwegian cold you’ve surrounded yourself with over the past year.

“I just need to grab my stuff and then we can go straight to the airport and book a flight to wherever you wanna go. Let’s go, Y/N, let’s go and be together. We are meant to be together, you and I.”

There’s still a spark but it’s not enough to keep you warm, on the contrary it only makes you feel more distant, your eyes glossing over as your blood runs cold.

“Steve, I can’t just elope,” you state calmly with your head held high. “Like you said, this is my dream job. I worked too damn hard for this and I’m not going to let you ruin everything. Not again.”

He has no right to say any of this, he has no right and you intend to snuff out all his preposterious ideas. He doesn’t have a hold on you, that privilege he lost the minute you boarded that plane. “You’re not in any position to ask me anything anymore, Steve.”

He looks at you with so much hope and you can’t stand it anymore, you can’t stand the bite of unshed tears anymore. You’re just too stubborn to cry over him, over anyone for that matter. You bite down harshly on your bottom lip, drawing blood and glaring daggers.

“So this is it? You’re just going to leave it there? Run away again?”

“I didn’t run away,” you hiss at him through gritted teeth and a lonely tear finally makes it way down your cheek.

“Have you told Bucky yet?”

They don’t deserve your tears and as a spiteful laugh swells in your throat, you bite your lip in order to stay calm. “No. And given what I’ve heard from Nat and Wanda, it’s perhaps for the best that he doesn’t hear about it at all. But if he does, maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t hear it from me.”

“You’re really doing this, are you?,” Steve concedes, a glum look on his face. If things were different, you would feel for this man. He sounds battered, bruised and broken, merely a ghost of the Steve you met and fell in love with. Yet it is time to close the proverbial door behind you. Steve doesn’t have to change, he just has to grow up.

“I am.”

You march your way over to the nearest exit, not even bothering to look back at Sharon snickering behind your back. There’s no doubt in your right mind that she heard every single syllable of your heated discussion with Steve and still, still there’s victory written all over her face.

Fuck off, you bitch, you growl internally, You can have him. He’s all yours.

There’s a part of you that wants him to run after you, lace his slender fingers around your wrist and pull you flush against him. To kiss you fiercely and passionately and leave hungry kisses all over your body. You want, no – you need him to come after you and pepper your face with butterfly kisses and spin you around like Thor does. Nevertheless, he just stands there, looking desolately at the ground below.


	9. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce gives you some great advice and you finally make the trip back home.

I gave Thor the ring back.

Yeah, you read that correctly.

I gave Thor the ring back because I couldn’t marry him knowing fully well that my heart belonged elsewhere and with elsewhere I of course mean Steve. He cried, I cried, we both cried and it was messy although neither of us picked a fight. Nonetheless I’m damn sure his brother Loki would’ve wanted nothing more than for the two of us the fall out and scratch each other’s eyes out. No such thing happened yet I can’t help but think it might’ve made me feel a little bit better if he had just thrown all his shit my way and called it a day.

But that’s the end of it, the end of all of it. No more bad boy James, no more golden boy Steve.

Just no more.

I work with Bruce and I sometimes even live with the guy when my neighbour is banging another girl through the roof and I can’t seem to catch any sleep, which much to my dismay happens more often than not. Sometimes I can crash at a colleague’s place as well, but that never last for more than a couple times.

So here I am again, standing on Bruce’s doorstep with my sleeping bag and some spare clothing. Even this very evening I’m barricading his couch and stealing his pillows, occasionally glaring angrily his way if he tries to sneak one out to his bedroom. Usually on nights like these we stay up discussing our projects until the sun rises, talking spiritedly about what new endeavour we should take on next. If only nights like these could last forever.

No such luck tonight.

“Y/N, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a very long time.”

“Do tell, Bruce,” I say rather cheerfully, patting the only vacant spot next to me on the couch. “I’m all ears.”

When he takes his seat, his expression changes from merry to stoic in a matter of seconds and I gulp audibly when he looks at me with those intense eyes of his, assuming his role as my surrogate father figure rather impeccably.

He inhales deeply and gently rests his hand on my knee, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing nonsense patterns and squeezing lightly as his eyes soften at my obvious discomfort. “It’s time to go home, my dear,” he begins and I can feel the coil in my stomach tighten at his words and the covert message behind them.

“What do you mean, it’s time to go home?”

Hell, I know what he’s implying but I need to hear it from him, loud and clear. I need to hear it. “Bruce,” I whisper softly, placing my hand on top of his, “Surely, my home is here with you and the others, unless you see things differently? Let me assure you, there’s no place I’d rather be.”

He shakes his head and gives me a pointed look, a tinge of green flashing behind his eyes, alerting me that he knows I’m still in denial.

After all this time, I’m still in denial.

“No, Y/N, you left your home four years ago.”

I swallow thickly, averting my eyes and studying the carpet below my feet as if I’ve never seen anything more interesting in my entire life. The words weigh heavy on my tongue and I’m afraid that if I spit them out I might have to make a run for it. I know I have to go back at some point but… “I can’t go back. Bruce, I just can’t and you know why, you know damn well why I can’t go back.”

“Your time with me is almost over and as much as I’d like to keep you on as my assistant and as much as I enjoy your company and our cosy sleepovers,” Bruce chuckles lightly and you can’t help but smile a little as well, “This was never meant to be your destination. You’re only halfway your voyage, Y/N, and it’s time for you to continue your travels. I can book you a flight right now if you ask me to. It’s for your own good, Y/N, you even talk about him in your sleep. He was your beginning and if you let him, he can be your journey’s end as well.”

“But –,” I attempt although it’s of no use and I’m sure Bruce is going to kick my ass if I start to object so I reluctantly decide against it. Instead I lower my head in defeat only to lift it up again to meet his gentle eyes when the comforting weight of his hand on my shoulder opens the floodgates. I pour all my hurt and all my sorrow into these tiny, thick droplets of water dripping down my face, marked by insomnia and countless days of mulling over what could’ve been and what was never meant to be.

It feels good to be back. It feels good to be back and talk to my friends without having to take into account the telephone bill or when the less than satisfactory Wi-Fi connection is eventually going to give out on me.

Bruce was right, this is my home.

“Thank you so much for letting me stay in your old room, Nat.”

“Nah, it’s no biggie! Besides, Pietro is already inhabiting your room so it’s only reasonable I’m offering you mine, I’m spending most of my days at Clint’s anyway. You’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

“Natasha,” I beam gratefully, “Natasha, I missed you so, so much. But it’s only temporary, until I find myself a place of my own. Tony already made sure I got my old position back, it’s only a matter of time before I attack the real-estate market next.”

We go out for coffee at our old place, ordering two lattes and sitting at our regular spot at the window out front, watching hundreds of people mingle in the busy traffic whilst the hot liquid burns its way down our throat and wakes us up inside, the familiarity of the scenery enough to stir up a peculiar sense of nostalgia in the both of us.

“How is everyone?,” I ask nonchalantly from behind my coffee cup, trying to keep a straight face although it’s of no use, I’m an open book to Nat who shoots me a sympathetic smile as she sets her cup down on the wooden table.

“I assume Wanda already told you about her recent endeavour?”

While I was abroad, me and the girls always kept in touch. Nat and Wanda would call me every other day to check in on me and fill me in on what’s hot and new in their lives. Wanda graduated in computer sciences and decided to travel for a year before settling down and getting acquainted with the 9-to-5 life. During her travels she met a guy named Vision and according to Nat they hit it off immediately. After sharing quite the passionate summer between each other’s sheets, they are now preparing for the launch of their newest app after the initial success of their website blew everyone’s socks off.

“Well, let me see. Clint and I have been working overtime trying to impress our boss, Pepper Potts, who just happens to be professor Stark’s ex-wife.” She gives you a half-hearted grin which you return with a tight-lipped smile.

You were well acquainted with Pepper and got off on the wrong foot. She had suspected you to be Tony’s girl on the side, hence the source of her constant mistrust in you, his flirtatious nature only fuelling the fire. He tried adamantly to put the matter to bed and eventually she was willing to hear the two of you out but things never ran as smoothly as you desired. To hear that Natasha and Clint were now working for Pepper was a big surprise to say the least, especially so since Tony never stopped loving her.

“She told us that we both possess great potential. She’s pitched some of our ideas to a few people higher up and by the sound of it, they were very excited about them.”

Natasha and Clint have been together for what seems like ages and both are employed in the PR-business. I used to joke about how dedicated she was to this job, saying she loves this job more than she loves Clint although he’s just as much a workaholic as she is.

“She also said that there might be a job opening for Clint and I in Washington.”

“Nat! That’s great news!,” you exclaim with obvious delight before noticing how she’s fidgeting with the hem of her dress and you instantly know something’s off. “Or not?,” you question gingerly. She locks eyes with you, albeit reluctantly before releasing a deep sigh.

“It’s Clint. He – He wants it just as much as I do but he’s afraid that Pepper only offered him a job as well because she knows I will refuse to go without him.”

“Oh,” was the only thing you could pronounce.

There’s a pregnant pause afterwards as we both finish our drinks and order a second one, Nat asking hers to be extra strong and adding an additional batch of blueberry muffins to nibble on. After they’ve arrived with our order, Nat takes a quick sip of her latte before she resumes speaking, the tension in the air palpable.

“Anyway, you also want an update on the boys from Brooklyn? Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked that question in the first place.” She kinks a brow at you. “You wanna know about Steve and Bucky?”

You stare at her with a dumbfounded look, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Shoot.”

She told me that Steve and Sharon got hitched right after graduation and are now living together in Steve’s old apartment, the one he used to share with Bucky before things turned sour between them. Fortunately Steve and Bucky resolved their issues and meet up on the regular for drinks at their local bar from back in the day when all of you were still enrolled at University.

Steve and Sharon are now both working for doctor Coulson, the head of the department of neuroscience at the local hospital and according to Nat, Steve’s well on his way to become a big name in his field of expertise. “If he keeps things up like this, that boy is going to go places Sharon can only dream of,” she says pointedly, taking a bite of her muffin and moaning in delight as the rich flavour hits her taste buds.

As for James, he got picked up by a head-hunter working for T’Challa, a renowned scientist recruiting specialists at the top of their game to work on a top-notch government project with him. “It’s a pretty big deal and I’ve never seen him more thrilled in his entire life. He got back on his feet real slow, but now it seems he’s on a winning streak.”

“It’s good the boys are doing so well for themselves,” I admit and it’s not a lie, it feels good to hear they’ve managed to make amends and find their way in this crazy life.

“Yeah, I have to disagree with you on that,” she replies bitterly. Nat’s answer takes me by surprise and I scan her face for any signs of mockery, disappointed to see she’s dead serious.

You look at her with mixed emotions. “How so?”

“Like I said, professionally they’re on fire but their private life is a mess. Steve and Sharon fall out all the time, even at the hospital in front of their staff. Even last week Wanda’s mother, who works there as well, said that their screaming match could be heard from their office all the way to the front desk. And James, James hasn’t dated ever since you left. I might’ve gotten him off my couch eventually, but that boy hasn’t even so much as looked at a woman. He’s lost his spark.”

She pushes her drink aside as well as the plate with muffins. “Y/N,” she starts off, her shoulders suddenly slumping and her eyes reveal the tiredness that’s eating away at her. The woman now in front of me is nothing like the strong and fiercely independent Natasha Romanoff that I have come to love.

“They’re not happy and neither are you. Please go talk to them, if not for me than do it for yourself. I’m not asking you to hook up with either of them, I’m just asking you to reconsider reaching out to them. Talk to them, see if they are willing to put the past behind and focus on the future. They’re still miserable and by the looks of it, so are you. Y/N, please, I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand to see my friends this depressed.”

You nod your head slightly, tears welling up in your eyes at you best friend’s confession. “I’m so sorry,” you apologise with a tormented look. “But I didn’t come here to drag myself through the mud again. I can’t, Natasha.”

She lifts an accusatory finger at you, her lips forming a tight line. “You’re scared. Y/N, you’re just scared.”

You scoff at this and answer sternly, your forehead drawing into a frown. “I know I was too caught up in my own shit to see that other people were suffering just as much as I was, but it’s not like I’m the only one to blame. They fucked it up just as much as I did and I lost myself, Nat, I lost myself and was on the verge of marrying a man that loved me dearly but would never be able to compare to Steve or James. I thought I’d found myself again, that Norway was where I was meant to be, but I only lost myself even more. If things would’ve been different, maybe Steve and I would be… Things… Things just would’ve been different.”

Something warm trickles its way down your cheek and when its bitter taste caresses your lips, you cannot refrain yourself any longer from sobbing, your shoulders shaking involuntarily. Natasha releases a shuddered breath, saying “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry Y/N. It was wrong of me, going after you like that. You have every right to be miserable.” and her voice sounds just as strangled.

“I was too blind to see that I drove a wedge between two best friends and unwillingly forced my own friends to pick a side as well,” I continued in a watery voice. It was just like the two Brooklyn boys had asked you to choose one of them and you had refused, just like Natasha or Wanda and look where it got you, look where it got all of them?

“No, Y/N, that’s not true,” Natasha countered softly and you narrowed your eyes at her, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s not true. Y/N, look at me.” She cups your face in her tender hands. “You lost yourself but that doesn’t mean it’s too late. It’s not too late to find yourself again. Third time’s a charm, right?”

You wince at her words but she doesn’t back down and the old Natasha Romanoff resurfaces again, the woman that can conquer the world through sheer will and determination if she so pleases.

“It’s not too late for you, Y/N, my dear. The secret to a happy and full life isn’t to be found in professional success, it’s in the people that make your life better, those people who make your life their greatest success. I’m not saying you have to become a homewrecker, don’t get me wrong, no matter how much I loathe Sharon you don’t have to stoop down to her level. But I just want you to see that at some point in your life, you have to stop looking backwards and start moving forward. It’s time to wrap this up, it’s time to move forward. It’s time, Y/N. Steve’s made his choice, now it’s your turn. You know what you gotta do and I’ll be there for your every step of the way. What was it that Bucky and Steve always used to say?”

“Till the end of the line.”

“Till the end of the line,” she echoes.


	10. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new man in your life.

It’s been a month since Natasha and I had that very enlightening conversation about what truly matters in life and what didn’t make the cut. Our paths have crossed a couple of times since then but neither Steve nor myself acknowledge one another, terrified of the results of engaging in a conversation, deciding that ignorance is the best approach when you’re still suffering from a heartbreak that should’ve been resolved ages ago.

“That’s it for today, guys. Please make sure to hand in your paper by the end of the week or marks will be lost!” You conclude the lecture and swiftly leave the auditorium, checking your watch one last time to assess the damage done.

Immediately you’re distracted by your phone, fingers typing away on another message to Natasha telling her you’re not going to make it in time for girl’s night, the absolute highlight of your week. There had been minor technical issues and since you couldn’t start until they had been fixed, all courses had been suspended indefinitely. When you were finally able to resume your classes, you were also bombarded with more questions than you had initially anticipated, causing even more delay.

Dean was coming from the opposite direction, equally invested in his phone as he was trying to pinpoint where exactly it was again that he had agreed to meet with his brother Sam, filling in for another professor who called in sick and would be absent until further notice. He swore he put it down somewhere in his phone, but alas, nothing was to be found and just as he was about to round the corner, he bumped into you.

Squealing in surprise, you dropped your purse in front of him and quickly tried to scramble everything back together, noticing a stray tube of pink lipstick had made its way over to where the fine-looking stranger was standing. He bent down to pick it up for you, the taut muscles of his abdomen flexing under the tight grey shirt he was wearing. You would be lying to yourself if you didn’t consider the view to be mouth-watering to say the least, with his jade eyes and chestnut hair because clearly this man must be the personification of ruggedly handsome. He looks like a bad boy with his ripped jeans and leather jacket and although you’ve had some bad experiences with his kind, it would be such a shame to deprive yourself from this exquisite specimen of a human being.

After retrieving your lipstick he hands it back to you, his fingers briefly brushing your soft skin and you feel yourself being catapulted to cloud nine. Is this what it feels like to be struck by lightning? It wasn’t until he clears his throat for the third time in a row, you notice you are still holding on to the lipstick in his hand.

“If you wanted to hold my hand, sweetheart, you didn’t have to drop everything, you could’ve just asked me,” he chuckles softly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and you’re desperately holding on to every last breath of air, his low voice and sexy accent sending goose bumps to rise all over your skin.

You inhale sharply, dropping your hand to your side. “Oh God, that’s so cheesy,” you laugh nervously and he smiles a big toothy grin, disregarding some of the weirdness between the two of you. “Does that line even work?”

“I don’t know, does it?” He kinks a suggestive eyebrow and his smirk grows even bigger, green eyes searching yours, watching intently.

“Uhm, yeah… Kind of… I guess,” you murmur as colour rises to your cheeks, tinting them a darker shade of pink. You avert your eyes and stuff your lipstick away. From the corner of your eye you can see him staring at you, blushing slightly when you look back up and catch him in the act.

He extends his hand and introduces himself, his handshake firm and his hands a little calloused. “I’m Dean, Dean Winchester.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say shyly, straightening your back a little so you’d make at least make a good second impression, “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N, such a lovely name,” he coos and shoots you a wink. If he was trying to seduce you with his voice then it was working like a damn charm.

“Well,” you cough a little, ridding yourself of the tight feeling in your chest, “I guess I better get going or my roommate is going to skin me alive.”

“We can’t have that now can we?,” he grins before adding “Hey, mind if I make it up to you?” and softly placing his hand on your upper arm.

Your eyebrows knit together in a frown, your voice suddenly dry at the possible suggestion of a date. “Make it up to me?,” you squeak, cussing internally at yourself for sounding like an excited squirrel.

“Yeah, how about pancakes? Tomorrow morning? There’s a nice diner a couple blocks away, my brother and I go there all the time. Best breakfast in town, you won’t regret it. Unless you have somewhere else to be, then I totally get it if you don’t want to - ”

“I would love to have breakfast with you, Dean,” you interrupt quickly. “Pancakes, I just love pancakes,” you blurt out, smiling shyly as his face breaks into a genuine smile and you find yourself laughing just a little bit more than before.

Mesmerized by his charming smile, you accept his offer and exchange numbers. He promises he’ll text you the address as soon as possible and will wait for you by the main entrance. It’s been a while since you set foot in the dating scene after any and all previous attempts turned out to be rather… disastrous. But Dean truly seems like a nice guy, so why not give it a shot?

You didn’t want to keep Nat waiting for too long anymore and if you would just hurry up a little more, you hoped you would still make it somewhat on time, casually late surely becoming your thing. The dinging of the elevator announced the sliding of doors and you called out to whoever was inside that they’d hold the door for you.

“Oh praise the lord,” you thanked the man who had been so kind to wait for you, but your cheerfulness quickly ebbed away when you saw who it was.

“Hi, Y/N,” his husky voice greeted you.

James.

James Barnes was standing in the elevator with you.

Fucking hell.

“H-Hi,” you stammered as your heart leapt out of your chest at the sight of him. His hair is longer and this length would probably make any other man look like a weirdo or a caveman but it does James all the more justice, making his appear so much more handsome and refined. He was wearing a light blue shirt, a dark blue blazer and a pair of blue trousers that snugly hugged the (not so) small bulge in his pants. He cleans up well, you thought to yourself as you drank him in a second time, very well.

I guess growing up looks different on everyone.

“What are you doing here, James?” I ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

Apparently he’s back on campus as professor T’Challa’s spokesperson, giving a couple guest lectures about the work they’ve been doing and harvesting a couple intrigued souls on the way. They need more people to engage in their project in order to make it a success but he’s very optimistic about the outcome and Nat was right, he’s really making a name for himself. It’s only ironic that’s the exact same reason he broke up with you in the first place.

“That does sound very exciting,” you acknowledge, “Although I always thought of Steve as the kind to stick around, not you.”

Steve has always been more of a scholar than James and you were sure he’d one day take up the title of professor, yet he followed after Sharon and moved as far away as possible, someplace with a minimum chance of ever running into you again.

You ran away, he ran away.

Great minds think alike.

James on the other hand seems to have followed in your footsteps. “Don’t get me wrong, but you just didn’t strike me as the academic type. I guess professor Barnes does have a nice ring to it,” you reply jokingly, letting out a light laugh.

I clearly remember a time where the only thing he could talk about was escaping this very campus. James used to be this adventurous spirit with wild hopes and big dreams and I can’t help but wonder what happened. Was I responsible for such a drastic change in character?

“Well,” he chuckles softly and you waver just the tiniest bit as his crystal blue eyes fix on yours, momentarily travelling down towards your lips before locking eyes with you once more.

How was he supposed to tell you this? How was he supposed to tell you that he did all of it for you? That he secretly hoped you’d one day return to the scene of the crime and pick up where professor Stark left off, that the path of science is the only path that could ever lead him back to you? He climbed up the food chain for you, not out of passion for science although he appreciates the opportunities he’s been given.

He did all of it just so he could see you again.

“I guess you could call it an epiphany. One day I woke up and decided I wanted to pave my way in the world of science. I’ve always loved science, just as much as you. Okay, maybe not as much as you, but you get the idea.”

There’s an awkward pause afterwards, his words settling in your bones with an unfamiliar weight. The elevator comes to a halt and the doors open not long after that, concluding your little trip down memory lane. Just as you’re about to part ways again, his fingers lace around your wrist and you freeze at the sudden contact, his touch scorching hot on your skin.

“Can I ask you one thing?,” he whispers shyly, morose blue eyes staring back at you.

“Sure,” you nod and he lets go of you, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Why do you always insist on calling me James? Ever since we met, you’ve never, not even once, called me Bucky.”

You let out a deep sigh, the corners of your mouth turning downwards. Oh, how you wish you had been stronger. But you were young and quick to get into trouble, since trouble is all that boy means, just not fast enough to escape him.

“It’s because all your friends call you Bucky and I always wanted to be more than just your friend, James.”


	11. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another heart-wrenching revelation!

The alumni ball.

It should’ve been the highlight of my academic career, the absolute epitome of my life. I had been nominated to receive an award for my scientific achievements and if everything had gone according to plan (which of course had been too much to wish for), it would also have been the day my history with the Brooklyn boys finally came to a close. I had already left Steve behind and now it was about time I did the same for Bucky.

A while ago I was graced with an epiphany as I realised that Dean, even though he too is scarred by a blemished love story, is the man I have been looking for. He has a couple rough edges like Bucky and also has a heart of gold like Steve but by no means he is like these Brooklyn boys. Dean, he is his own character as well as a beautiful personality and I feel myself blossoming in his presence with each passing moment.

I love him and as I look back at him, the pace of my heartbeat quickens almost instantly.

Dean and I were getting ready for the night, wearing our best attires and our biggest smiles. Dean was clad in his three-piece black suit and velvet red bowtie, an odd combination if you ask me since I’m used to always seeing him sport blue jeans and a leather jacket, complete with a V-neck t-shirt he picked up somewhere along the way. But there’s no denying that this outfit works pretty good for him as well and I find myself checking out his juicy backside more often than not, eliciting a couple curious glances my way.

“Baby,” he whispers in my ear, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck as his arms encase my waist and trap me from behind. His chest is flush against my back and I feel a prominent bulge prod the nape of my lower back. “You look so damn sexy.”

His voice is dripping with arousal and if it wasn’t for time ticking by too quickly, I would rip the clothes off of his body and allow him to have his way with me. “This dress is freakin’ expensive, babe, don’t you dare ruin it,” I warn in a teasing tone.

Dean spins me around and as my hands fall to his chest, his hands cup my face and those sweet lips start to nibble on my bottom lip before eliminating the single breath of air separating our eager tongues. We simultaneously moan into the kiss, his fingertips roaming my exposed back while mine card through his short hair.

“We better get going, love,” he whispers into my ear before taking my hand and leading the way, panting slightly in the aftermath of our heated kiss.

By the time we finally arrive the event has already started and we each try to find our respective seats. Assuming we would both be seated next to one another, we were very much surprised to find out this is not the case.

Apparently we’re sitting on opposite sides of the venue and even though Dean tries to negotiate with the woman that arranged the evening, it’s of no use. She does not give in to his charms, which is a huge accomplishment in itself, motioning for him to return to his designated spot.

He quickly pecks my lips, muttering a “Don’t worry, we’ll make up for lost time in the bedroom” under his breath before scooting off to his respectable corner.

Huffing silently, I plump down on my seat, not caring about the annoyed look the event planner gives me. I eye her curiously, eyebrows cocked and head held high, forcing her to turn her scrutinizing gaze away first because no way she’s the winner in this staring competition. After all, at the end of the night, I’m going home with Dean.

“You look absolutely breath-taking, Y/N,” someone says in a raspy voice and I can feel his smirk against my skin as his lips caress my pulse point.

His fingers ghost over my bare shoulders, breath fanning the shell of my ears as he places a tantalising kiss to my cheek. I turn around to meet Bucky’s eyes and he shoots me a victorious smirk which I instantly reply with a scorning guise.

“You did this. You separated Dean and I, didn’t you?,” you frown before a hurricane takes over your mind, his hands tilting you by your chin so you’re staring straight into his eyes.

“Y/N… “ he trails off, “What do you want me to say?”

You yank your face from his hands and he actually has the decency to even look moderately surprised at your accusation, sitting down on the chair on your left, his body facing yours. Bucky’s body language speaks of intimidation and another emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. “I did no such thing, I don’t have enough juice to pull those kind of strings.”

Looking away from his piercing blue eyes, you fiddle with the knife and fork neatly placed in front of you. Your voice sounds small when you speak again, drained from all courage to speak up against him. He used to be your man once and even though you promised yourself you would never let him influence you anymore, you can’t bring yourself to care about that promise.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?,” you questions quietly, still studying the silver glow of the cutlery.

“T’Challa,” he admits equally softly, hanging his head in both guilt and shame. Yet there’s a little smile playing on his lips and Bucky chuckles at your obvious dismay.

“I figured you’d never want to talk to me again once you heard the voicemail, which I am truly very sorry about. This was my only chance to make it right, you know. I needed to explain to you why I said those things.”

You squint your eyes in suspicion and furrow your brow, unable to find a way to deal with this unexpected rush of unwanted information. “What did you say, James? Please, I need to hear it,” you ask with tears in your eyes.

“It was wrong of me to contact the phone at your apartment, I shouldn’t have done that either,” Bucky continues, clearly embarrassed by his inebriated attempt to contact you. “I – I was drunk and didn’t know what came into me.”

You slightly turn your head in confusion, sniffling slightly at the overwhelming feelings lacing like tendrils around your eyes. “When did you say you called?” As far as you’re concerned, there’s no voicemail but at least you’re so kind to hear him out first before drawing any hasty conclusions.

“Yesterday,” he replies almost too eagerly, eyes pleading for you to give him a definite answer.

“Call logs don’t lie, James. There was never a phone call.”

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry about that voicemail. I shouldn’t have brought up that letter either. Like I said, I was so hammered and I know it’s not an excuse for my behaviour, I just… I guess I just want you to know that I meant every word of it.”

“What voicemail, Bucky? I never got any voicemail. And what’s this about a letter?” You always check the answering machine for new messages when you get back from work and yesterday there was never a call registered from anyone, let alone Bucky.

“Dean was already home and he told me there were none, but I checked anyway and he was right. Nothing. Stop messing with me, James. Don’t you think you’ve done that enough already?”

Bucky clasped your hands in his, cupping them and squeezing gently, coaxing you to stay connected to his pleading eyes when finally the truth came out, all of it. Last night Bucky, Steve, Clint and Sam all got together at their local bar to celebrate their reunion. As the evening progressed, all four men got more and more drunk until Steve was so far gone he made a snarky comment about you and Bucky just lost it. Clint ushered him home and when he got there, he picked up the phone and left said a voicemail.

“I love you, Y/N. When you left, I was heartbroken. That night I saw you taking shelter from the rain, I – I should’ve known better than to come on to you the way I did. But I also wanted you to tell you that I will always love you, that I will always wait for you. As I said before, all those years ago, there will never be a woman more important to me than you, Y/N. I even wrote it down to prove to you that I’m not playing any games. I have been waiting for you and I will continue to do so because I am in love with you.

After we broke up, I wrote you a letter explaining why I did what I did. I admitted to having countless flings but it was never really love. All of that changed once I met you. I loved you and I have always loved you, but then I got scared and I backpedalled immediately which in hindsight is the most stupid decision I’ve ever made. I’ve regretted it ever since and even though it’s in the past, I keep beating myself up for it. After it was finished, I gave the letter to Nat and she promised me she would give it to you.”

But she never did.

Your mouth hangs open in shock and you feel like the laughing stock of fate. If Nat had kept her promise and given you Bucky’s letter, you would have tried to clear the air first before moving on to Steve. But then again, would you still have fallen for Steve? Would you still have met Dean? Would you have suffered as much as you did? Would the boys have suffered so much as well?

“James,” you choke out in a strangled sob and again the tears start to fill your eyes at an impressive speed. “I believe you, I really do.”

Bucky releases a relieved breath yet inhales sharply as you suddenly rip your hands from his hold and cover your face with them. He tries to shush you, pulling you into his chest but you resist the urge to do so and push him back, rejecting him. “No, James, no.” You violently shake your head, gathering yourself with a deep breath. “I believe you but I need to talk to Nat first before I – before I fuck it all up.”

Even though you wish the conversation to end here, on their own accord, your fingertips reach out to him as they trace the outline of his well-defined jaw. He leans into your touch and presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. Too dazed by his presence, you allow him to press a chaste kiss to your hand once more. “James…” you sigh as your senses remember the last time those lips were on yours. Soft and warm, tender and lush.

Forbidden fruit.

A few long seconds after you’ve released these words from your mind, you hear the infectious laughter of Natasha Romanoff. Your head snaps into her direction and she gives you a gracious smile, quickly turning as cold as a freezer when she takes in your seething expression and flushed, tear-stained face.

She knows you know.

Her eyes wander from your red-rimmed eyes to Bucky’s and as soon as they lock, he gets up from his seat and storms over to her. You follow suit although his broad form initially shelters you from Nat’s view, his arm protectively keeping you at bay.

“Natasha Romanoff, why?,” Bucky shouts at her and her head jerks from Bucky to you and back to him, a triumphant smile plastered on her seemingly innocent face.

“Why did you never give the letter to Y/N?” His voice is one of utter betrayal. He trusted Nat, he trusted her with his deepest, darkest secret and she just threw it away with the trash. Natasha does not bat an eye, her expression remaining perfectly stoic. A few emotions pass by on Bucky’s until he settles for one of unadulterated anger.

And so all masks fall off.

“Because everything just comes so natural to you,” she huffs, directing her stinging voice directly towards you as you step from behind Bucky. “Your parents are rich so you never had to worry about money. You’re not drop dead gorgeous but you’re cute and guys like you because you’re so god damn adorable. You never have to second guess everything a man says or does, you never have to ask yourself whether they like you for you or just want to have a good time and then leave the next morning.”

“Nat, don’t,” Bucky threatens, trying to level his voice even though the panic clearly shines through. “Don’t,” he tries again, raising his voice ever so slightly but his threat is not registered by the proud woman straightening her back and tearing you apart with just a single string of coherent, verbal shots to the heart.

“Because every time Bucky and I fucked,” she continues menacingly, grinning victoriously as she notices the blood drain from your face, “he would chant your name like a mantra when he cums. He would never even let me look at him. We only did it two ways, either it was me with my face pressed against the wall or in the pillows. Bucky always wanted to take me from behind because he couldn’t bear to look at me, because you’re the only thing on his mind and always have been. While he was screwing me, he was actually thinking of screwing you.”

You didn’t know Natasha and Bucky had been friends with benefits, you didn’t know that she ever harboured feelings for him and neither did you know that she even cheated on poor Clint because if memory serves you right, she and Clint met long before you and Bucky did, long before you introduced Bucky to her.

“Doesn’t our friendship mean anything to you anymore?,” you respond with a feeble tone, hands quivering and your entire being shaken to the core, voice cracking more and more.

Nat laughs lightly, a haughty and dry laugh. Her voice is the most steady of all. “No,” she answers resolutely and you have to hold on to Bucky to prevent yourself from fainting and crumbling to the floor at hearing her discard your friendship so easily, over Bucky of all people.

“You might’ve been Bucky’s first love,” she acknowledges, grinning down at you, coming clean with one final confession. “But he was my first love and you took him away from me.”


	12. August version 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by one of my favourite songs: Give by You Me At Six. Also, if you pay attention, you an find a subtle reference to “Castle on the hill” by Ed Sheeran.

Over the years, I’ve lost a lot of friends. I lost my best friend Natasha because she couldn’t look past her jealousy and acted solely on her rage. I lost James and then I lost Steve because they didn’t find it in them to man up and face their fears. They waited too long to tell me how they truly felt about me and we drifted apart like ships in the night, passing each other by without knowing.

That evening at the ball, everything changed. Devastated by Natasha’s betrayal, I bailed on both her and Bucky, grabbing Dean by the hand and demanding he’d drive me home. The ride back was silent, Dean knowing better than to stalk me with questions about what happened, realising that if he did I might be damaged beyond repair.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? About the message?”

“I didn’t want to lose you. I could see how much he still means to you.”

“You’re a good man, Dean,” you state softly, cupping his cheek in your hand. “You’re a good man that makes bad decisions.”

I forgave Dean and never saw anyone again. Those people were responsible for some of the best times of my life, but also for some of the worst. They ruined me, the person I had aspired to become stuffed away in a cardboard box along with all my other pictures and memories. And look at me now, standing in a cream coloured chiffon wedding dress.

Wedding dress.

Well, I guess that means I’m getting married today.

It was an ordinary Friday morning. Dean got up first because he has a longer commute, so as he was getting ready to leave for work as I drifted off to sleep again. That is, until I felt the bed dip under his weight and he coaxed me out of my sleep with an abundance of sweet nothings in my ear.

“But first,” he announces cheekily, “we must get you dressed. I have a surprise for you.”

He took me to the café we had our first date and asked me to go order while he was going to find us a spot. I just shrugged and didn’t think much of it, ordering a black coffee for Dean and a mocha latte for myself. Moving on to pay for our daily cup of joe, I see Dean making his way back over to me and I congratulated myself on my clever thinking as I asked two cups to go instead of regular mugs, just in case there weren’t any seats available.

“Order for Y/N,” the barista calls out and I reach to take it from the counter when a pair of grabby hands beats me to it.

“Dean,” I sigh sweetly, “What are you up to now?”

I turn around to see him holding my cup in both his hands, something else besides my name scribbled on it. Inching closer so I can clearly make out the words, I clasp my hand before my mouth to refrain from screaming.

It reads: Y/N, will you marry me?

Dean then gets down on one knee, chuckling at my reaction after placing the cup back on the counter first. “That day I accidentally ran into you, I reckon I didn’t take enough time to appreciate your beauty. But I have been hooked on you ever since that day when you got pancake syrup all over your shirt and you laughed at my milk foam moustache. I love you, Y/N. I love you, so will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

***

“Y/N, are you alright? You’re going to ruin your mascara!,” Wanda shrieks as she moves quickly about the room to fetch you a handkerchief to dry the tears running down your cheeks.

“I sent them an invitation, too. Bucky and Steve, I mean,” you clarify, fingers trembling under the pressure of your impending nuptials.

Wanda waits a couple seconds before replying, contemplative eyes mixing with her soft smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Filling your lungs to the brim, you take a large gulp of air in utter surprise. “You know?”

“I’m your maid of honour, I am supposed to know everything. Besides, I’ve kind of been keeping tabs on the two Brooklyn boys for you. You want me to fill you in?”

You nod but do not say anything else, deciding to let Wanda do the talking for you. “Bucky left for Wakanda, working side by side with T’Challa. He told Nat he just wanted a warm body to keep him company at night, that he never wanted it to spiral out of control the way it did. He wanted to make amends but Nat refused. Nowadays she’s already on her second husband while Clint works and lives down the coast with his wife and two kids. He’s happy, Y/N. As for Steve, he has two kids as well but lives alone,” she grimaces glumly, crossing her ankles as you stare at your hands fidgeting in your lap.

Wanda clears her throat, coughing nervously. “Sharon dumped him for one of her colleagues and moved upstate. My brother Pietro overdosed and Sam’s barely getting by since he lost his job. It also cost him his apartment and he’s now occupying the guest bedroom at Steve’s loft. The place is too big for him anyway.”

Rubbing your temples, you try to make your way through the maze that is your mind right now, filling in the blanks wherever you can and failing miserably when you cannot put two and two together. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Y/N, I am telling you this to show to you that none of them are better off.” Wanda moves to sit down next to you, taking your hand in hers. “What happened, happened. This can’t be reversed, Y/N. You have to let it go.”

“I can’t help but think that none of it would have ever happened if I hadn’t met James. I would have never met Steve either and I would have never introduced those boys to the others. I wouldn’t have lost Nat, too.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe this was meant to be, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you meeting Bucky was never meant to happen and it was the first wicked flap of the butterfly’s wings, the first spark that set everything else ablaze. But Y/N,” she says with those big doe eyes and soft voice, “Remember that we’re all grown-ups now, capable of making our own mistakes, we’re all individuals with the freedom of choice. Not all of it can be traced back to that first day you saw Bucky.”

“Why are you still here with me, Wanda?,” you blatantly ask your friend, blurting out the one question that’s been bugging you all this time. Everybody left you, everybody but Wanda, who stayed behind and has crowned herself as your confidante. “I thought that after Pietro you would…,” You shrug awkwardly, “Vanish into thin air or something.“

“Pietro’s death was an accident. You know how he was, always experimenting and living on the edge. I thought about leaving, too, but my home is right here. My parents live here, my boyfriend lives here and I have you. You have a heart of gold, Y/N, and I see it in every single thing you do.” 

There’s a knock on the door, Tony informing the two ladies he is ready to walk Y/N down the aisle to where Dean will be waiting for her, accompanied by his brother Sam.

“I’ll give you 5 minutes, tell everyone the bride is having some technical issues with her make-up because she’s crying tears of happiness. That’ll keep them occupied.”

Tony gives Wanda a curt nod of his head, signalling that there’s another matter that needs to be discussed. “Y/N,” Wanda speaks softly, “I believe there’s someone by the door wishing to speak to you.”

“Yeah, sure, uhm, send them in. I guess my 5 minutes aren’t up yet.”

A blond man steps into your line of sight, wearing a neat black suit and a grey tie he probably didn’t tie himself since he sucks at dressing up, preferring his chequered flannel shirts over a more formal attire every single time. It’s been too long since you’ve had the privilege of being on the receiving end of that mind-shattering smile.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he exhales with a strange familiarity, “Technically you invited me.”

“I wrote those letters as closure, I never meant to send them,” you anxiously blurt out, mentally slapping yourself in the face. “But I guess my heart won the battle against my head. It was a stupid thing to do, I shouldn’t have – Never mind.”

“Y/N, I’m not here to ask you to run away with me again. I’ve tried that trick before and it didn’t work out, so I’m not going to do it a second time.” He chuckles and a tiny half-smile breaks through your tears. “I’m just here to tell you that I’m happy for you, Y/N. I don’t know Dean personally, but if he makes you happy than he makes me happy too.”

“Thank you, Steve. That – that really means a lot to me.”

“You should get going, though. Bruce’s getting antsy,” the blond chuckles.

“Thanks again, Steve,” you say as you give him a quick peck on the cheek before shimmying past him and making your way towards where’s Tony’s waiting for you, offering you his arm which you gladly accept. You’re ready for the future. You’re happy you finally got a chance to put some old matters to bed once and for all. Well, at least one old matter but that’s already enough miracles for one day.

As Bruce is walking you to the altar, your favourite song is playing in the background, filling the garden with its beautiful rhythm and you instantly fall in line with Tony’s footsteps. At the wedding rehearsal, you nearly tripped over your dress a couple times because you were so nervous. But not now, now you feel completely at ease.

Dean is looking back at you with tear-filled eyes, a goofy smile curling his lips upwards. His brother Sam, also serving as his best man, is standing next to him and gives you a look of approval, your wavy dress fits you like a glove and simultaneously makes you feel like a real Greek goddess.

The music comes to a close when you reach your future husband, Tony lightly kissing your knuckles and whispering good luck into your ear before releasing you to your hubby-to-be, Dean completely and utterly awestruck at the mesmerizing woman standing next to him.

“Shall we begin?,” Dean’s best friend, Castiel, asks the both of you and you murmur eagerly in agreement. “Very well. We have gathered here today to celebrate the union of Y/N Y/L/N and Dean Winchester.”

The ceremony is short and sweet, just like you and Dean preferred. Your heart is hammering in your chest when it’s time to exchange the vows and even though you memorized everything by heart, you can’t help but black out at Dean’s words.

“Y/N,” he pledges with the utmost devotion. Never have you ever seen him cry, but today he’s having just as much a hard time as you trying to hold it all back.

He sucks in a deep breath. “I can tell you how much I love you a million times over and over again, but you already know I would give the world to be with you so I’m not going to repeat myself. I just want you to know that you are an angel that fell from the sky. I am honoured and privileged to soon be called your husband and I thank the heavens for giving me the opportunity to love you because I do, with all my heart and my entire soul.”

“Dean,” you breathe out, restraining yourself from becoming a blubbering, sobbing puddle of an emotional mess.

You clear your throat. “I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. You have given me my life back. You have given me the chance to be myself again and for that I am eternally grateful. With you by my side, I can move mountains. I love you. I love your touch, your smile, your eyes and how they crinkle when you smile. I love everything about you. Even when you snore like you’re trying to bring heaven down, I still love you.” This was met with a quiet chuckle from Castiel and a loud snort from Sam, the audience seemingly enjoying your little pun. “I will love you till death do us apart and even after that.”

After you exchange your vows, Castiel is ready to conclude the ceremony with the exchange of the wedding rings. “Do you take Y/N Y/L/N as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?“

"I do.” Dean then moves on to repeat after Castiel. “I take this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness in the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit.”

Castiel turns to you next. “Do you take Dean Winchester as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?“

"I do,” you confirm with a shy smile. "I take this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness in the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit.” “

Castiel holds out his arms, gesturing towards the crowd. “If anyone here has any reasons as to why these two should not be joined in Holy Matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”

There’s not a doubt in your right mind that anyone would ever disapprove of Dean. He has charmed and enchanted not only your heart but that of many other people as well. There are a couple beats of silence that pass agonizingly slow and you feel the relief wash over you when the sound of the wind is the only melody falling on your ear, Dean gazing lovingly into your eyes. He winks at you, laughing lightly at your rosy cheeks.

Just as Castiel is about to pronounce you husband and wife, a dark figure blasts through the flowery decorations, walking bristly towards the altar and as his broken voice chimes through your mind, the bile rises in your throat. You didn’t know he’d be here today, you didn’t know he would ever read your letter. You can see his lips moving but you do not register anything anymore as you feel yourself slowly drowning into his baby blues. Dean takes a hold of your hand and brings you back to reality, repeating your name as he tries to get through to you. All these nights you’ve tried to keep him off your mind have gone to waste.

It’s Bucky. Your Bucky, all the way from Wakanda to Brooklyn. “Fuck it, Y/N. I love you and I can’t stand to see you with him any longer. Damn it, I object!”

His chest rises and falls with every laboured breath, his icy eyes remembering you of the frozen lake you ice-skated on with Dean last winter. You had fallen into his arms time after time as you just couldn’t get the hang of it. It was one of your happiest days. This is supposed to be your happiest day and here he is, the master of screw-ups, James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

“Y/N, I know I’m the biggest jerk of all and I know I have done you and others wrong so many times. But I can assure you, this is not what you want. If Nat had given you that letter, it would’ve been me standing right there. No offense, Dean,” he adds sincerely, turning to face the seething man at your side. “You seem like a nice lad and all, but I loved her first.”

Dean releases his grip on your hand and runs over to the brunet asking his fiancé to abandon him at the altar seconds before the priest would pronounce them as husband and wife. He takes a swing at Bucky, hitting him flat on the nose and Bucky cries out in pain. The sound of bone breaking on impact has you rushing towards where his quivering form has tumbled to the floor.

“James, you stupid man,” you whisper as you cradle him into your arms, countless tiny drops of blood staining the luxurious fabric of your dress.

Sam has to restraint Dean in order to prevent him from going at Bucky a second time, pushing his brother down on a nearby vacant chair and pointing an accusatory finger at him if he tries anything. He then turns back to where you and Bucky are crouching on the ground.

“I would react the exact same way as my brother if you pulled that stunt on me, pal. But out of respect for Y/N, I’m going to give you guys a minute. Seems to me you have some unfinished business to sort out first.”

Sam’s eyes soften when he accepts Bucky’s apology, moving back and forth between the two of you before returning his attention to his brother downing half a bottle of bourbon one of the attending guest’s handed him.

“If you would’ve read the letter,” Bucky says stripped bare of all confidence. He’s not the Brooklyn boy you used to know, neither is he the man that rose above expectations. He is just Bucky now, a fragmented figure laying in your arms on your wedding day. “Then you know what I wanted for you, for us. I would’ve followed you to Norway, hell, I would’ve followed you anywhere if it meant I could just be with you.”

“I am way out of line here, Y/N, and I have absolutely no right to do this to you. I had no right to use Nat as a rebound and I see that now. I was wrong, so wrong, but I am not going to let you do this. Over my dead body.”

Bucky releases a shuddering breath. “There’s nothing I would’ve given to see that perfect smile on your perfect lips, to see your face light up in laughter when I admit you’re right, that I did get into something that’s way over my head, like right now,” Bucky cries softly as you cry with him.


	13. August version 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by “This is the first thing” by my favourite band You Me At Six.

Dean slowly pulls out of me, his sweat-slicked body creating a shy glow as he’s trailing feverish open-mouthed kisses along my jawline and down to my collarbone.

“Birthday sex is the best kind of sex,” you sigh against his lips, tilting his chin so he’s just out of reach before he continues his quest down the valley of your breasts and your bare torso.

“I’m going to miss you babe,” he purrs a little, the warmth of his body heightened due to your extraneous activities.

“Then don’t go on that hunting trip with your brother,” you hum as his teeth graze lightly over your perky nipples, extracting a low moan from the back of your throat, Dean’s dick twitching underneath the sheets.

Pushing Dean aside, I make my way towards the bathroom to clean myself up a little first before going for a possible round two. I call out his name, coaxing him out of the bed as well so can get himself a new pair of boxers but as soon as I peek around the corner, his sleeping and snoring form is adorable wrapped around our pillows. Finishing up and perfecting my bedhead, I climb in the bed next to him. A small smile plays on his lips and I inhale deeply, his worn-off cologne lingering still on my entire body.

I let out a soft laugh as he mumbles in his early slumber. “No kiss goodnight?”

“I can think of something better,” I say, tone teasing, fingertips skimming his velvety skin. Reaching for his hand underneath the covers, squeezing it gently as I kiss up his neck and across his cheek. Soon enough his eyes are open wide and his lips hovering over mine, passion not far away.

Dean places his hands on my hips, steadying me on top of him until I’m straddling his lap. “I love you”, he smiles up at me.

Running my nose down his jaw, he growls into my skin, pressing his growing member into my inner thigh. He’s just as rock hard as before. “Dean,” I whimper seductively, wantonly.

He nestles his head on top of my before pressing a chaste peck to my hair. “Y/N,” he moans when I shift a little to get at least some kind of friction. “I am too tired and so are you.”

“I’m not tired anymore,” I giggle when the tip of my nose collides with his.

“Is that so?,” he questions with a cocked eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips before you deliver him with your absolution sliding your wet heat across his length.

“Shit,” he hisses as his forehead bumps into your shoulder, chest heaving with restraint.

You allow your eyes to dance across his features before retreating, falling down next to him with a satisfied grin. “I made up my mind,” you tease relentlessly, “I’m exhausted.”

His lips are on yours before you can speak further, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Tenderly you suck his tongue into your mouth, using his body as a focal point. You are his treasure map and each time you make love, he crosses off another spot he discovered, another spot he ravished with his godlike body. He rolls his hips against yours and instinctively you answer by lacing your legs around his waist.

“Now now, darling,” he growls ferally, hips bucking slightly as he presses into your cunt, his pelvis rubbing against your still sensitive skin. “You started it, now let me finish it. Let me finish you.”

The house feels empty without your man. Dean left right after breakfast, his brother picking him up with a big, goofy smile plastered on his adorable face. You really like Sam and the connection he shares with his brother.

But days like these, where there’s no one around and nothing to do with sit and wait, you find yourself rummaging through your closet for the souvenir box you keep on the bottom shelf. “There it is,” you whisper contentedly when your fingertips touch its wooden surface.

There’s not much inside, just a couple old pictures of you and your parents and the diary you used to keep in your bedside table during high school. But there’s a third item in there as well, one you reach out to instantly. It’s just a simple keychain, but it used to belong to Bucky. Your mind often wanders back to Bucky and how stupid you feel that you let him worm his way back into your thoughts like this. Nevertheless, you regret your decision of never forgiving him for his mistakes. He tossed away his second and his third chance, no longer worthy of your forgiveness. Yet you can’t bring yourself to forgive yourself as well.

You put the box back where you found it and make your way to the living room, attempting to catch up on some of your favourite TV shows but failing when the doorbell suddenly rings.

“Hello. I have a package for Y/N?,” the blond man informs you as you slide open the front door. “It was originally delivered at your old address but the woman was so kind to give me your new one. Sorry about the delay.”

He gingerly hands you the cardboard box as if it’s the most fragile thing in the entire world. You thank him with a polite smile and a small nod, slowly closing the door behind you as you study the information scribbled on the ticket on the top of the box. It had been sent to your old address, just like the mailman had said, approximately one week ago.

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, you tear it open and gasp once it reveals its contents. There are so many letters inside! Carding your hands through the envelopes, your fingers come across the familiar handwriting you spent countless hours trying to decipher at University. Amongst all the pristine white there’s one red envelope that stands out, also signed 7 days ago.

You tentatively remove the letter from the envelope and start reading it out loud, fighting the silence that threatens to deafen you and swallow you whole.

“My dear, sweet Y/N,

My love, you’re so far away.

I hope you received my surprise in time and I trust that by now you might’ve already figured out that I wrote all these letters with the intention of sending them to you, but that I could never muster up the courage to do so, given what happened a year ago. But somehow I found my confidence again and decided to send them anyway. No harm done in trying, right?

I have written you every single day for the past 12 months, keeping you up to date on the ups and downs of my life in Wakanda. For me it’s some kind of coping mechanism, writing to you. It makes me feel like you’re still in my life, still my best girl and waiting for me back in Brooklyn.

I miss you so much, Y/N, and I love you so much. I apologised to Nat and Clint before I left. I made amends with everybody I’ve done wrong. I guess I just have to fix what’s broken between the two of us, the trust that I broke when I hurt you.

I never meant to cause you any hurt, doll. I’m just not used to someone loving me the way you did. But that doesn’t exonerate me from my sins and I perfectly understand if you never want to see me again. I understand that you might never read this because you threw it all out with the trash.

But darling, the distance is simply too much to bear. I want to be near you, I want to love you and caress you. I want to be the man you wake up next to, the guy that makes you smile and cry tears of happiness. I need you to know that my soul is yours, my heart is yours, my body and my mind, it’s all yours.

You are my sanity, my anchor. So let me be true to you, let me love you the way you deserve to be loved, not the love you chose to settle for. I’m coming back to you soon, sweetheart.

Yours forever and always,

James”

Little droplets cause the ink to run out, spreading across the entire page as you toss it away before attacking the stack of paper in your lap, picking up a random letter and devouring it with all that you are. You read every single letter, not stopping until you’re finished and laying on the ground, rocking back and forth whilst crying your heart out.

***

 

The drive over to Bucky’s new place is tantalisingly long. You didn’t take much time to change or make yourself more presentable, just jumped into your skinny black jeans and favourite t-shirt, not even bothering to switch shoes and hailing a cab in your slippers. You albeit throw the money at the driver before stepping out and wrapping your arms around your shaking body. You’re not cold, it’s the midst of summer after all. You’re shaking because you left Dean’s home in a hurry trying to figure out whether or not you should take your old lover back.

A sentence from one of the letters comes to mind, standing out immediately in a stark contrast against the countless other love letters Bucky has written you over the course of many, too many days.

“You used to be an island to me, so beautiful, so exotic and yet so remote. I always thought I would never be good enough for you, that I was just another sailor failing to get ashore. But now I know that it was me who had been the island, creating more distance where there was none. And you, my love, were the sailor looking for the old, forgotten treasure that is my heart. You loved me once and I hope you can find it in your heart to love me still.”

He always ended with “Yours forever and always, James”.

You ring the buzzer and as its sound kills the time, it also inflates your nerves. What if he doesn’t answer? No, Wanda assured you he’d be home. What if someone else, another woman opens the door? No, otherwise he wouldn’t have begged you to come see him. All these what ifs eat away at you that you don’t even notice a set of the brightest blue eyes falling on your insecure frame, locking eyes with the ground below.

“I didn’t know you’d show up. I mean, I didn’t know for sure,” his soft voice sings lightly, causing your head to snap up and your eyes to hover over his baby blues. “I hoped you would. I even prayed.”

Time has not been unkind to him, his five o’clock shadow making way for a more younger appeal of his clean-shaven jaw. “Bucky,” you heave out with your last breath. “I want to be stronger. I want to be stronger and resist you. But I also don’t want to be worlds apart from you. I can’t do this any longer, I can’t string myself along like this.”

“Doll,” he shushes, taking you into his arms. Melting into his embrace, you release the tears you’ve been holding up. Bucky allows you to crawl deeper underneath his skin, not for a second daring to break the electric current conjoining your bodies.

“I love Dean, I really do. But he’s just another Steve, I am not in love with him,” you cry quietly, your voice wavering with every loud sob whilst an ugly frown disturbing your skin. His eyes never leave yours, his tone not budging an inch as he dedicates every single word that leaves his lips to you.

“I am here, you are here. We are both here. I just want to be yours, if you let me.”

“Please just kiss me,” you beg him, softly grabbing him by the collar as you gauge his reaction. Bucky chuckles, connecting your lips to his in a breathy laugh. Bucky takes control of the kiss and you don’t have to do anything but follow his lead. It’s effortlessly, falling in line with the movements of his body.

He’s positively glowing now he’s got you back in his arms. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but you’re better off without me, Y/N. You deserve a better man than I will ever be.”

“No,” you reply resolutely, “I’m broken, Bucky,” you explain to him. “I am broken and I tried to put all my pieces back together alone. When that didn’t work, I found someone who was willing to do it for me and along the way I lost pieces of my puzzle, never finding them back again.

So I filled up the blank spaces with other people’s pieces, not realising that when I took a piece of them they lost a piece of their own puzzle as well. I put people through the same misery that I put myself through and I tried to give it all back but failed. It seems like you’re the only one that has the pieces that fit just right since somehow I always seem to find my way back to you.”

“You brought me down to my knees,” he blurts out, cupping your face in his hands as the dark of night behind his blue eyes drowns in your flood of tears. “You are the only woman for me. I want you to hear this loud and clear. You,” he takes a deep breath, “You are what matters most to me, you always have.”

Bucky’s tired, you can see it in every breath he takes, the smile on his face wavering slightly with the pressure of insomnia weighing down on him. Bucky is the Atlas of your existence, the soldier fighting a lonely war against his own insecurities. But he doesn’t have to do it alone anymore, he no longer has to trip over the wires of other people’s lives intertwining while he remains isolated.

“And you are the only man for me, Buck.”

He sends you a worn-out smile, beaming with happiness yet weary of the grabby hands of fate waiting to drag you away from him again. You wonder how you could have ever missed it, the haunting look in his eyes whenever he had a sleepless night or the devastating depths of the hole he’s dug for himself. Your lips are on fire as soon as they soothe the corners of his mouth, lifting as he laughs into the kiss.

“Why don’t you call me James anymore?” he exhales slowly when you break apart, his hand rubbing your arms reassuringly and his gaze set on your in a soft comfort. Pressing your lips against his one more time, tasting the sweet innocence of your reunion on the tip of his tongue, you reply without hesitation, wrinkles forming at your elated eyes.

“Because I’m yours now.”


	14. The letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leading up to the events of part 12, version 1 (august), Y/N wrote two letters, one to Steve and one to Bucky.

Dear Steve,

You were it for me. I could see myself move in with you, marry you, have kids with you. But instead you had to ruin me. Yes, you ruined me, not Bucky. Because at least with Bucky I knew there was always a shot at rejection, even though I wasn’t expecting it. With you things were different, or were at least supposed to be different. You were supposed to be a good guy, a decent guy with a pure soul. I thoroughly enjoyed our early morning chats and our late night small talk. They made me feel like somebody understood me. And you did, to some level, understand the demons I carry with me on a daily basis. But it wasn’t enough. People telling us we would look great together, supporting us, encouraging us to make a move. It all simply wasn’t enough.

One day, I will forgive you. Not now, just one day. You see, I trusted you, Steve. With my thoughts, my dreams and ultimately my heart.

I’m standing in front of the mirror, admiring the dress I’m going to wear to my own wedding. I’m going to be happy with Dean for the rest of my life because you let me go. You let me go and now I’m free to choose someone else. Because as long as there was you and Bucky, there was never anyone else. I spent my days trying to wrap my mind around why I was feeling that way, but the answers never came to me.

You brought me to my knees. You made a girl that thought she’d never find love, fall head over heels in love with you. But I’m over it now. I’m over you. All I hope is that you and Sharon are going to be happy, too. You deserve your happiness, Steve, even though I could not give it to you.

You made me feel so much. You still do.

Love,

Y/N

***

Dear James,

Yes, James. Not Bucky. Even after all this time, I still cannot call you Bucky.

We didn’t just have a good thing going, James. I was in love with you. That’s why I am writing you this letter, why I am writing you and Steve a letter. Not because I want the find some kind of closure, but because I want you to find some closure too. You allowed me to live in a dream, keeping me by your side and letting people, including myself, think that I was your best girl. And then you pushed me away for no reason, only to tell me later on that you were afraid that I’d get too close. You came on to me, forced yourself into my life again and told me you wanted me and only me. I was a mess after that and I don’t think I ever recovered. Somehow I hope that some way we could’ve worked through our differences without the drama. It has proven to be idle hope.

I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. You were the first guy I thought I could ever have a shot with. There have been boys before you, boys that I liked because they were nice and smart. But they were boys. Then I met you. You’re not just nice, you have a heart of gold. You’re not just smart, you’re the most intelligent human being I’ve had the privilege of engaging in a conversation with. They might not have noticed it right off the bat, but I did. I saw your potential, the greatness you are meant for. I’m so glad you eventually decided to pursue an academic career because it’s a challenge and we both know challenges are what you do best.

Please let me be happy with Dean. If you love me, if you ever loved me in return, let me have this. Let me have Dean.

Love,

Y/N


	15. September, one year later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it all comes full circe.

One year later - september

“Professor Barnes!” A young girl’s voice echoes in the long hallway, her footsteps resonating against the tiled floor. “Professor Barnes! A minute please!”

Bucky and I both come to a stop, turning around to see who’s chanting so loudly after all classes have already been dismissed. We exchange a curious look while watching Michelle Jones rush towards us, holding at least three folders against her chest and her black-and-red backpack casually slung over her shoulder.

“Hi Michelle,” you greet her kindly, Michelle’s chest heaving up and down as she gives you a flustered smile. “No need to be so formal. You know you can call me Y/N.”

Michelle is one of yours and Bucky’s star students as she juggling two majors at the same time. you’ve always taken a liking to her particular spunk because it reminds you of a younger Bucky, a side to Bucky that hasn’t quite just left either.

“Actually,” she says whilst her eyes shoot between you and Bucky before they eventually settle on Bucky. “I was hoping I could talk to the other professor Barnes. Professor James Barnes.”

Bucky erupts in a joyous laughter when his mind finally catches up. “Honey,” he grins, an adorable lopsided grin that only Bucky knows how to deliver perfectly. “I think there’s been a small misunderstanding. We might’ve gotten our wires crossed a little here,” he winks at Michelle before shooting you a toothy grin.

“Yes, I can see that,” you reply jokingly, pursing your lips together in a tight smile before you break into a fit of giggles. “I should’ve kept my maiden name. Two professor Barnes’ just means too much trouble.”

“Trouble is my middle name,” Bucky retorted in a flirty tone and with a big grin, earning him a playful slap to his bicep.

After pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you say your goodbyes to Michelle. “He’s all yours.”

“Are you going back on foot?,” Bucky asks curiously, a boyish glint in his sea blue eyes.

“No, I took my car this morning. Why? You wanna know if I’ll be able to get you some donuts?” Bucky’s face breaks into a big smile as he nods eagerly. “Or would you like a cinnamon roll like last time?”

“Nah, a good, old-fashioned donut always does the trick,” he smirks cheekily as he places his hand on your arm and gives you a chaste kiss before you can take your leave. “With chocolate sprinkles, please?” You nod, knowing these are his favourites. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“Such a sweet husband, aren’t you, professor Barnes? And such a sweet-tooth,” you coo softly, bumping his nose your pointer finger. Glancing over at where Michelle is pretending to look the other way, you chuckle lightly when her eyes meet yours and she smiles back at you.

“Have a nice weekend, professor Barnes. I mean – Y/N,” she corrects herself swiftly and smoothly.

“You, too, Michelle!”

The bakery is maybe a 5 minute detour on your way back home and fortunately for you, the Friday afternoon rush hour isn’t so bad at all. There’s even a parking spot not too far away from the bakery that looks like it’s been reserved just for you. After parking your car and making sure you’ve locked everything up, you pay a visit to your favourite bakery, the one you’ve been going to ever since you moved to the city. Bucky would even argue it was one of your key points while deciding on a house for the two of you.

The bell rings lightly, announcing your arrival to the boy behind the counter, the owner’s nephew Peter Parker. He looks up from the magazine he’s reading and greets you with an enthusiastic hello. “Mrs Barnes! Your order is ready for you!” He goes to the back and you hear him ruffle through something before a happy “aha!” reaches your ears, prompting a relieved sigh from your lips.

“Aunt May left some clear and strict instructions for me,” he tells you when he comes back with a small silver box and places it on the counter, where your eager hands await. “She also said it’s on the house.”

“Oh no, I can’t accept that!,” you respond quickly, trying to hand Peter a ten dollar bill anyway.

“No Mrs. Barnes,” he says resolutely. “Aunt May made me promise I wouldn’t accept any money from you. Told me you’re celebrating something big. She mumbled something about a bun in the oven?”

You chuckle, obviously amused by May’s play on words. “Yes, Peter, that’s right. I’ve got a bun in the oven.” When he shoots you another confused look, you decide to end his suffering. “I’m pregnant, Peter.” Resting both your hands on your stomach, you wink at him. “Bucky and I are going to have a little baby, our own little bun in the oven.”

His coin starts rolling and soon he jumping from behind the counter and wrapping his arms around you in excitement. “Congratulations Mrs. Barnes!”

You thank the young boy while taking a peek at the clock. “I gotta go. If I wanna keep the surprise a surprise.” Picking up the silver box, you throw one last look over your shoulder accompanied by a gentle wave of your hand. “See you next week!”

“Always a pleasure, Mrs. Barnes!”

***

“Y/N, darling. I’m home!”

Bucky drops his keys on the table and saunters towards the kitchen, popping open an ice cold beer and bringing the bottle to his awaiting lips until he spots the silver box. It’s neatly displayed on the middle of the kitchen table, yet there’s no sweet note from you, no nothing.

“Y/N, babe? Sweetheart?”

You pop your head around the corner, displaying a huge smile. “Yes, Bucky?”

“What’s this, doll? What’s it for?,” he asks gingerly, pointing towards the silver box.

You nod your head in the box’s direction, remaining in your ambiguous cover. “Go ahead and open it. You’ll see.”

Curiosity gets the better of him and he cautiously lifts up the lid. You roll your eyes at his careful movements. “Go on, Buck,” you encourage warmly, “Open it.”

When the lid is finally fully open, his eyes can now clearly read the message written on the inside of the lid. The box itself is filled with his favourite donuts, those with chocolate sprinkles, with a single cinnamon bun right in the centre. The astonishment is etched onto his face, his handsome features showing all kinds of emotions rushing through his mind as he reads and rereads the words carefully scribbled onto the cardboard surface.

 

“Eat up!

My mommy doesn’t want to be the only one with a belly!

See you soon,

Baby Barnes.”

Biting your lower lip, anxiously gauging Bucky’s reaction, you softly speak up. “So… Professor James Buchanan Barnes… You know what this means?”

Suddenly Bucky moves very quickly as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. Just like always, his lips seek out yours with the powerful attraction of magnets. “I’m going to be a father,” he mumbles to your cheek as he peppers your face with soft butterfly kisses. “I’m going to be a daddy and you’re going to be a mommy!”

“We’ve got a tiny cinnamon bun in the oven!” Intoxicated by happiness, you kiss him passionately. “I love you, Bucky.” You guide one of his hands to your stomach where his fingertips strokes it softly. “And baby Barnes loves you, too.”

With all the loving and tenderness in the world, Bucky Barnes’ eyes follow the movements of your hands. You haven’t started to show yet but he couldn’t wait until you did, eager to show off his pregnant wife. Eager to show off the progress he made. “I love my little family. So very much.”

Cradling his face in your hands, you lock eyes with your elated husband. “Who would’ve thought this day would ever come?”

A shimmer of sadness flashes before his eyes as he remembers all the hardship you’ve been through, all the pain you two had to overcome. “It doesn’t matter.” He cups your face as well, bringing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. “I love you and that’s all that you have to know. All you have to remember.”

Your thumb caresses his cheek, wiping away the tear that has trickled down in this moment of remembrance. You press a light kiss to his soft skin, nuzzling your nose in his cheek. “My Brooklyn boy,” you joke affectionately, threading your fingers through his long brown locks and ruffling his hair a little.

“I’m yours. That will never change. Some things will never change,” he replies equally lovingly before picking you up and twirling you around.

***

17 years later

“Hey mom, can I join you?,” your son asks kindly as he enters your study. You’ve been engrossed in a book all morning and since it’s Sunday, Bucky takes his sweet time getting out of bed, leaving you some room for your favourite pastime. But luckily your son doesn’t take after his father too much in that department as he’s an early riser, often accompanying you in your makeshift library and study.

“Of course,” you invite him in, patting the empty space next to you on the couch. “Sit down, honey.”

“Mom,” he whines a little as he sits down next to you, his cheeks flushing with awkwardness. “Don’t call me honey. It’s not cute.”

Gently patting his leg, you chuckle softly. “What would you like me to call you then, hm? Doll? Like your father calls me?”

“Ugh, mom, gross!,” is his immediate reaction. “Just call me Jamie, okay?”

“Okay, Jamie,” you smile at your boy, pointing at the book in his lap. “So, what are you reading?”

He holds up the cover, biting his lower lip in anticipation of your reaction. You laugh heartily once you see which book has been occupying him the entire weekend. “You’re reading my novel!”

“It’s actually really good, mom.” Your mood immediately lifts at this, a beaming smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “But I just got one question…” he puts down his book, or should we say your book, and sighs deeply.

“In the beginning of the book, you write that some parts of the story are fiction and others are not, inspired by true events. Hence my question…” He sucks in a deep breath. “How did you and dad meet?” In the pause that follows, he fidgets nervously with the hem of his shirt. “Is it like the couple in the books? The boy from Brooklyn and the girl from Manhattan?”

You have been dreading this moment. Well, maybe dreading is not the right word but you’ve been afraid nonetheless. But not afraid of telling your son the truth, just afraid of what he might think of you after you’ve shared with him the love story that belongs solely to you and Bucky, one that in your opinion can outmatch any Greek tragedy in an instant.

“Well… it all started in my first year at Uni. Your dad was quite the looker and he was friends with everybody. That’s how we first met. We saw each other everywhere and nowhere, always looking but never speaking. I didn’t start talking to him until third year, where I just randomly sat down next to him in the hopes of finally striking up a conversation. It was the very first day and none of my friends, and none of our mutual friends, had arrived yet. So I took a leap of faith.”

“That’s really bold of you, mum,” Jamie jokes in both surprise and admiration as you laugh lightly, thanking him for the compliment.

“Then we started seeing each other, but not officially. That happened later, after he asked me to the ball. We dated for a while until your dad broke up with me.”

“I did it because I was scared, son, not because I didn’t love your mother will all my heart and more,” Bucky suddenly interjects, removing himself from his spot against the wall which he’d been glued to all this time, watching the entire conversation with the utmost interest. He must’ve slipped into the study when you and your son weren’t paying attention, his bedhead still uncombed like he’d just gotten out of bed, which knowing Bucky was highly probable.

Your husband sits down on the armrest of the couch, resting his hand on your shoulder as he speaks. “It wasn’t exactly love at first sight but when we started talking, I realised that I was slowly falling for her. I was falling so hard and that scared me to death. It was my first time falling in love, too. So I broke things off with her but by the time I realised what a big mistake I’d made, she was already with someone else.”

“I was heartbroken. I’m not gonna lie. I was devastated but I willed myself to move on. I briefly dated a mutual friend before I got the offer to study and eventually work abroad. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity so I took it with both hands.”

You look up at your husband, sharing a loving look as you place your hand on his. “It was a no-brainer and during my stay abroad, I thrived and lived life to the fullest. I got engaged, thinking that I was ready to spend the rest of my life away from everything I had once known. But that wasn’t the case.”

“Eventually you mother came back and we ran into each other again. Also at university. But once again, we were reminded of all the things that had kept us apart for so long, of all the things that would continue to keep us apart. So we went our separate ways.”

“There was another man before your father and I got back together,” you smile sadly at the memory of Dean. “He was truly wonderful but he wasn’t Bucky. And it also didn’t help that we kept seeing each other around campus.”

“What took you so long to make a move, dad?,” your son asks his father, a touch of discontent and even disbelief in his voice. He seems to find it very hard to believe that his father didn’t jump at the opportunity to be with the love of his life, much like the main character in your novel who also almost didn’t. Jamie has always looked up at his father, the hands-on approach that characterises Bucky and his rebellious nature. A rebellious nature you often recognise in Jamie, too, if not a little toned down by your gene pool.

“I’ve asked myself the very same thing for a very long time, Jamie,” is Bucky’s cheeky answer. “Your mother, she… she initially wanted our relationship to remain professional. She didn’t budge. Just like when we first started dating, she made me work for her affection. And to be honest, I wanted to be worthy of her love, too. So I showed her how serious I was about this, that I really wanted this to work. That it wasn’t just a second chance, but that it was so much more than that.”

“They say marriage is hard work, Jamie,” you tell him kindly, your eyes soft with adoration for your handsome son. “But even the freshest of relationships is hard work. What I’m trying to say is…,” you blow out a long breath. “We could’ve let go of each other a long time ago. Because after our second chance came a third one, a fourth one, a fifth one,…. And so on so forth. I believe we’ve given each other at least a million so-called second chances by now.”

Bucky chuckles behind you. “But once you know that something is meant to be, it’s not that easy to let go of. You fight for it and that’s what we did.”

“So you see now,” you say whilst caressing Jamie’s cheek, “where I’ve got my inspiration from?”

Jamie nods softly followed by a small yet heartfelt laugh. “Thanks for telling me, mom.” He then turns to Bucky, smiling gratefully. Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime son,” Bucky says before pecking the crown of your head and squeezing his son’s shoulder while on his way out. “If you want to hear another story, you know where to find me.”

When Bucky’s out of earshot, you scoot closer to you son and envelope him in a big hug. “Don’t tell your father I said this, but I’m pretty sure it was love at first sight for the both of us,” you wink playfully, followed closely by a “Y/N! I heard that, doll!” coming from the kitchen.

Guess some things truly never change.


End file.
